


A Skyrim Story

by JasminSilver



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasminSilver/pseuds/JasminSilver
Summary: Follow Luthien, Dunmer Dragonborn as she makes her way through the harsh province of Skyrim. Love, violence, heartbreak, and fluff, all wrapped up in one story!Covers the main quest and the Legion vs Stormcloak conflict with some twists.Worth a read, but then again I'm a tad biased... Read to make sure!
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ralof, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1: Helgen

She was frozen to the bone. The mere act of breathing was rendered painful by the chill of the air and her fingers had gone numb hours ago. The snow she was lain on had melted; freezing her skin in the process and soaking the threadbare rough spun tunic she was wearing. Through the near cold-induced coma she was in, she was vaguely aware of the other prisoners. They were all Nords, wearing leather padded chainmail and warm looking blue wool wrapping. Their hands were bound, like hers and their weapons had been taken away, but they did not appear troubled by that fact. More so, by didn't even seem to be bothered by the paralysing cold. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, whispering jibs and insult to the Imperial soldiers walking about, taking kicks and insults back when their jailors had had enough.

She could remember the events that lead her to this predicament. Though some details were blurry, she could definitely recall the fear. One moment she was minding her own business, desperately trying to light a fire with wet wood to warm herself up when she heard horses neighing, men and woman shouting and swords being drawn. Orders were barked, blows exchanged. She tried to run, tried to escape the ferocious battle when the air itself seemed to boom, sending her flying pell-mell on the soldiers. The last thing she saw before blacking out was a giant of a man being restrained and gagged by four Imperial soldiers. He had been wearing the warmest looking fur cloak she had ever seen. She remembered thinking she would give just about anything just to ball up inside of it and forget about the detestable white curse that was sticking to her clothes.

Her eyes were getting heavier with each passing minutes. She knew that closing them, succumbing to the numbness, would be her death sentence, but she couldn't keep on fighting. The shivering had stopped about half an hour ago and she could barely move anymore. She had tried to call for help a few times, but the Imperial had ignored her completely and the nearest man wrapped in blue had snickered and called her "Damn Elf" and "Milk Drinker" before dragging himself closer to his friends and resuming his hushed dialogue. Maybe closing her eyes only for a few seconds wouldn't be that bad. It would give her the strength to go on. Just a few seconds…

"Might as well leave her here. She's done for anyways," said a faraway voice.

"Who in the Void is she? There are no Elves in the Stormcloak"

"She was with them in the attack, I saw her running with flames in her hands"

"She charged at us!"

"Ralof! Have you lost your mind?" hissed a female Stormcloak.

"They'll kill you if you try to move" added a man, his gruff voice catching the ear of a nearby Imperial.

"Shut up down there!" barked a heavily armoured Imperial woman. "Nobody moves except when I order it!"

"Talos! She's dying, woman!"

"What do you care? She's nothing but an elven beggar." Sneered the imperial woman. "Ashborn as it is!"

"Maybe he's lonely! After all, a woman's a woman." Supplied a laughing imperial soldier.

"Might as well warm her up, or else her corpse will attract wolves. Get a move on will you" ordered the Legate. "The next one caught talking will have his tongue cut out, got it!"

The man named Ralof then got on his knees and half-crawled, half-kneeled toward the elf, falling twice because of the snow and his bound hands. He had not seen Dunmers often in his little village of Riverwood. Every now and then, an odd mercenary would pass and stay the night at the Sleeping Giant Inn but that was it. There may have been a salesman or two in Whiterun, but he couldn't be sure. Even though he had little experience with their people, the black hue of her finger, toes, lips and ears could not be good. The white frost coming out of her parted lips was thin and irregular. She was almost dead, but any enemy of the Empire was a friend of the Stormcloak, grayskin or not. With his bound wrist, hoisting her frail body on his was no menial task. After a few failed attempts, he managed to bring her back to his large chest, sitting her on his leather-covered thighs to protect her from the frozen ground. Slipping his arms over her head and around her waist to secure her in place, he began to untie his blue mantle with his teeth. It wouldn't do much to protect her from the Skyrim winter, but it would keep a little of the heat he was producing and hopefully warm her enough to keep her alive.

Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak insurgents, was, unbeknownst to his benevolent soldier, watching the complicated procedure. He had first noticed the Ashborn during the battle; she had been running with a flame alight in her hand. He had assumed she was with the Empire, considering she was not with him. Though, seeing her bound and left to freeze on the unforgiving Skyrim winter ground, he had to admit she was probably not an Imperial sympathizer. Being the leader, he had his men to look out for, so he had turned his attention from her shivering form to them until the Imperial soldiers brought his attention back to her. By then, she had stopped shivering and was seemingly asleep, facing them. He would have called her dead had Ralof not insisted so much on reaching her. He had a hard time seeing what the man hoped to achieve by his actions excepted getting himself killed before his time. He was astonished by Ralof dedication. Even though he fell and was mocked by the Imperials, he kept on going until her slender body was awkwardly secured on his strong one. The man had managed to cover her with his cloak and was now rubbing his bound arms around her immobile arms and ribcage while breathing in the crook of her neck. During this little scene, he had had time to study her. She was grey, dark grey with a touch of indigo and her surprisingly white hair was cut short in the most repulsive way, almost like a little boy. Her body was "Merish", which for Ulfric meant, "devoid of the generous Nord's curves". She looked young, very young and her face had the distinctive Mer brow, a little more pronounced than the human's yet delicate. She had slightly shallow cheeks despite her young age with full dark lips. Her nose was ever so slightly crooked and a tad larger than the average Mer's. Finally, her eyes were closed so he could not see if they were that detestable shade of crimson or any other "Merish" tint. He really could not bring himself to feel any pity for such a miserable and weak female, but yet, he could not bring himself to completely stop watching, though he would never admit to such a thing.

It had been a very long night for Ralof. He had thought about trying to lie on his side to get a few minutes of sleep, but the woman in his arms would have ended up lying in the snow again. She had begun shivering lightly again, and he could not bring himself to put her back where he had picked her. He had finally managed to get his back to a jagged stone without too much trouble and managed to close his eyes when the Imperials kicked them awake and ordered them to climb back in the wooden carriage they had used to get them this far. He was more than shocked to see his childhood friend, Hadvar, walking up to him. With a contrite expression, he lifted the blond man's arms and dragged the woman to a cart. In the process, the blue mantel fell to the snowy ground. Standing up without help, Ralof picked it up. Feeling like he was wasting time, a black-haired Imperial nudged him harshly in the back forcing him to drop the woollen piece of cloth to clutch the edge of the carriage. Climbing in the cart, the Stormcloak caught Hadvar's gaze.

"Please", he said, looking from the blue patch in the snow to the still unconscious woman sprawled on the bench.

Without a word, Hadvar picked the wrap, slapped the snow out of it a few times and draped it on the Dunmer shivering shoulders.

Ulfric was angry, as usual, would many say. The weakling of an elf was, not only still unconscious, but also leaning on his shoulder. At the beginning of the trip, his man, Ralof, had nudged her with his feet to make her fall on the fur-padded shoulder of his leader instead of the hard wooden planks of the carriage. He had hushed an apology to the gagged man, but before the Jarl could understand why he had a Greyskin breathing softly in his neck. Had she been a Nord, a proud Stormcloak shield-maiden, he would have tugged her closer, maybe even nuzzled her hair a bit. If there was something that could compete for Ulfric's love of Skyrim, it was Ulfric's love of a strong Nord woman; the right curves in the right place, a strong body and a will to match his own. The Mer, on the other hand, was the extreme opposite; she had next to no curves, a frail-looking body and not even enough will to stay awake. Even her breathing was annoying for Talos sake!

The cart had been wobbling and jerking along the cobblestone path for about an hour and a half when he felt a change in the Mer breathing. It had gotten deeper and he felt her rubbing her cheek on his cloak. Jerking away at the feeling, he kicked Ralof who had finally fallen asleep.

"You're finally awake!" said the man with a despicable cheer in his voice. They were going to the chopping block, he was almost sure. Could the younger man not see that? "I was beginning to wonder if we had lost you". It would have been such a shame he thought bitterly.

Then, a dirty, smelly, brown-haired, poor excuse of a Nord started to whine about the unfairness of the situation. How he was a horse thief and had nothing to do with rebels destined for the headsman's axe. Had he not been gagged, Ulfric would have shouted him out of the cart for his spinelessness. Luckily, the blond man, Ralof (he would have to remember this name for he was a good and loyal soldier), chastised him for his cowardice and told him rightfully that a Nord's last thought should be of home. In the end, it appeared the blond man was conscious of their impending death. He was simply facing it like a true Nord; with pride and strength! He spent a few minutes, thinking about his beloved Skyrim he was about to quit, having not had the time to free her from the Imperial plague. To his greatest disappointment, his meditation was interrupted by a soft voice.

"Where are we going?" said the elf.

She was obviously not used to speaking the Norse tongue for she pronounced it slowly and without the comfortable flow of someone fluent in it.

Ralof, as a true Son of Skyrim, answered truthfully and without wavering.

"I don't know, but Sovngarde awaits" he was about to add something when the horse thief broke into sobs while the rock walls of Helgen came into view.

Even though it was neither the time nor place to do so, Ralof had to admit the Dunmer woman was surprisingly pleasing to the eye. Her large white eyes seemed unseeing and were a little unnerving, but he noticed they were following the conversation, always looking at the person speaking. She also had a youthful beauty he had never witness in elves. The few ones he had seen had prominent cheekbones, huge circles and wrinkles below their eyes, receding hairline and thin, dry lips. It was a shame really that he would not have the opportunity to know her better. Her body, even cold, had been pleasant to hold onto.

Damn the Nine, she was not on the list! He was already feeling bad enough about manhandling the young woman, but her absence from the list brought fire to his conscience, bringing him to question his superior.

"Legate, she's not on the list"

"She goes to the block with the others!" looking Hadvar in the eyes she added, "Get a move on, I haven't got all day".

Grabbing the dark elf delicate wrists in her iron grip, she dragged her amongst the Stormcloak insurgents, in front of the headsman.

"I'll make sure your remains are sent to Morrowind, Elf", said the Imperial soldier, too shaken by the Legate lack of heart.

She was already too far away for him to hear her whisper, "It will rot there".

He would never admit it, but he was proud of the little elf. She walked with her head held high when she was called to the block. Unlike that horse thief, her pants were still piss-free and she had not cried or tried to make a run for it. Maybe he had misjudged her after all. Well, it was too late to care; the headsman was already raising his axe.

Even though she had a bloody axe ready to chop her head off, her gaze was not directed toward the covered face of the headsman. A small part of the mountain seemed to have grown wings and was flying toward the village. His eyes of burning ambers seemed to look right through her soul. As this creature of nightmare landed on the watchtower, making the ground rumble, she stood there, on her knees, unmoving, mesmerized by the creature's call. It was chaos all around her. Stormcloaks and Legionnaire alike were running like scared rabbits. The Legion General barked orders. Very few were followed in the midst of the panic. The black monster was speaking, and yet she couldn't understand a word of it. Then, she felt it again; like the air had taken solid form and was pushing her back. Before she could react, she was knocked down and her vision blurred. Through the commotion, she felt someone lifting her up and dragging her by the back of her shirt. She came through when she felt the relative safety of the strong rock walls around her. Her saviour, the man who had identified himself as Ralof of Riverwood, was talking to his leader, the giant of a man who had apparently killed a man with his voice!

"It was a dragon, like in the legends!" said Ralof loudly.

"Legends don't burn down villages", replied Ulfric after taking off his gag and unbinding his strong wrists.

"We need to move," said someone.

"Up that tower" supplied the younger blond man, nudging the dark elf in front of him. Her hands were still bound, but he didn't have time to untie them. It would have to wait until they escaped both the Imperial soldiers and the dragon.

She stopped mid-run, making him collide with her back. At the same instant, the tower wall burst open and the sleek black head of the dragon slipped through the opening, washing the stairs in fire. When it had receded, the Stormcloak and the elf came up to have a look at the breach. The way up was a no go, being as there was no more stairs but a pile of rumbles. Ralof motioned for her to jump through the flaming roof of a house down below. She was scared; he could see it in her eyes.

"Are you mad?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"I'll follow you as soon as I can, but you have to jump now before that dragon comes back", he said that while placing his heavy hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze.

She took a laboured breath, closed her moon coloured eyes and jumped. He saw her land roughly on the wooden floor and saw more than heard her pained cry. She escaped from his sight as she went further in the house.

"Get him to safety" barked Hadvar to a scared villager, pushing a young boy in his arms. From the corner of an eye, he could see the Dunmer prisoner running. How she was still alive in the middle of all this, he couldn't understand. Yet there she was; her steel grey face covered in soot, sweat and blood. Gods, her hands were still bound! "Stay close to the wall prisoner", he said to her. She had told him his name, but in the middle of all this, he couldn't remember it. It began with an "L" but that was the extent of his knowledge. The dragon was coming back toward them, breathing fire and turning the building to ashes. "Stay close to me prisoner". Honestly, he didn't know what he could do to protect anyone against such an opponent, but he had sworn to protect the subjects of the Empire until his dying breath and as far as he was concerned, she needed the protection. She followed him to the Keep where they were met with Ralof, his childhood friend. Stopping in her tracks, she looked at both man, not knowing which one to follow.

"Prisoner, come with me", pleaded Hadvar. She was wasting time, precious time, which could make the difference between being burnt to a crisp or living to see another day.

"Luthien, follow me", said Ralof, motioning for her to come. He remembered her name from the call earlier. It had been quite exotic among the Norse names being called.

Hearing her name, she looked toward the man, then, with one last glance to Hadvar, she ran toward the blond barbarian just as the dragon was circling back over their heads.

The Keep seemed safe enough for a quick stop. Anyways, he needed a moment to grasp the situation and the elf needed to be freed from her bindings.

"Let me get your hands untied, then we'll get you some armour", said Ralof briskly looking around him.

Without a word, Luthien held out her arms to him and he proceeded to cut the crude ropes that held her prisoner. They had bitten in her flesh, leaving bloody marks on her delicate wrists. Having heard all kind of stories about the Mer and Jarl Ulfric thoughts about them, he was a little surprised to see red blood oozing from her broken skin. He had half expected her to have tar-like blood going by the colour of her skin. He was even more surprised when she balled up her fist, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. The attack he was expecting never came tough. Instead, gold light shimmered in her now open palm and flowed with grace to her wrists and right ankle, mending the flesh. In the field of battle, he had often witnessed the prowess of the Norse healers. Coming from the ashen hands of a Mer though, it was even more magical.

"You're a mage then?"

"No. I know a few simple spells, but I'm no mage"

"Well, grab Gunjar's armour than we need to get moving", said Ralof. He couldn't wait to be out of this place. He had lost his Jarl in the midst of the battle and he hoped to find him safe and sound when they finally made it out.

Luthien stared, blankly at Ralof. "You want me to loot the dead?" she said, flabbergasted. He simply replied "He won't need it anymore" before kneeling next to the man and muttering something about Sovngarde. He then proceeded to free the armour with the help of the elf. She removed the smaller pieces of equipment like the boots, gloves and belt while he was bodily lifting the corpse of his shield brother to remove the leather-covered chainmail. It looked much too large for her but it would protect her a lot better than the half-torn tunic she had on at the moment. Hesitantly, she looked at the man who had saved her.

"Would you mind turning around, please?" she might have lived in the streets, wearing nothing but rags but she was not about to give a show to this man, saviour or not.

Ralof gingerly complied. They were not in a safe place; keeping an eye out on each other was the only way to stand a chance of making it out of Helgen. He would have to keep an ear out then, in case Imperials tried to sneak upon them.

The armour was heavy and broken mails from the killing blow to its previous owner were scraping against her shoulder blade but it would have to do.

"I'm ready, do you know the way?" she asked the tall man.

"No, but I think the outside is out of the question, so this door seems to be the only option".

Unfortunately, the door was locked and could not be picked. To add to their misfortune, two Imperial soldiers were coming their way, talking loudly. Whispering, Ralof ordered the elf to hide "We might take them by surprise" he added. The blond soldier unsheathed his axe, crouching on the left side of the door. Luthien couldn't help but think he looked quite fearsome, his muscled arms holding the weapon at the ready while his eyes were fixed on the door.

Taking his example, she lit both her palms on fire. Her flames might not be as powerful as his axe, but in these closed quarters, it would grant them an advantage. As soon as the Imperial passed the door, they were hit by a wave of flame and the furry of an unleashed barbarian. Unfortunately, the surprise didn't last long and in a few instants, the two escapees had two very angry soldiers aiming to kill them. It became clear very early that the elf had never fought armed soldiers. She was attacking the anatomical weak spots without any consideration for the armour covering them. Soon, she was tossed against the wall by a frustrated Legionnaire who then focused his attention on the tall Nord. The Legionnaire fell quickly beneath the iron axe, but the female officer proved to be much more of a challenge. She parried every blow, dealing quite a few herself until she managed to knock the axe out of Ralof hand. Trying to reach for the gladius of the fallen man, the Nord took a powerful sword blow to the shoulder. Much of its potency was deflected by the chainmail, but the force of the blow still made him groan and retreat a bit. Seeing her misfortune companion in such bad shape, Luthien ran behind the officer and, lighting her hands once more, applied both flaming palms to the woman face making her scream in agony as she fell to the ground defeated. The dark elf then kneeled beside her companion to ascertain the damage. Lifting the chainmail sleeve despite the protests of the man, she saw a large bruise beginning to form.

"I don't know any healing magicks that works on others but this will help", she said, materializing dancing cold flakes in her right hand. "Please, don't move". Under the scrutinizing glare of the wounded man, she applied her frost-coated hand to the bruised shoulder. The man groaned and tightened his jaw at the contact but did not move. Once she deemed the wound cooled enough, she banished the frost from her palm, looking expectantly at the blue-eyed man. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yes. It's numb. It's much better, thanks." He said, surprised, flexing his arm and lightly rotating his shoulder.

She could sense his pride had been hurt, being saved and healed by a weak looking elf so she did not extend her hand to help him up and when he failed to properly lift his axe with his wounded arm, she pretended not to see.

After defeating the torturer and his sadistic assistant. She managed to acquire a mage's hooded robe and a spellbook. Seeing that they were in a relatively safe place she asked her companion to stand watch while she changed and learnt the new spell. The blond man, once more turned around, granting her some privacy while protesting that she could be attacked at any time if he wasn't looking after her. He was also extremely curious about what she looked like under that armour. He had never seen a Mer woman before but holding her this close all night… Well, he was curious. If they made it out of this mess, he was stopping by the first tavern he could find to get a drink and maybe a few hours in agreeable company. His train of thought was broken by a muffled cry of pain. Unsheathing his sword, he turned toward the woman. There was no enemy, not even a rat in sight. She was simply passing the chainmail over her head, the broken links scraping a bleeding wound on her shoulder. She must not have been disturbed by the noise his blade made, because she didn't turn around. She was wearing the leather pants and boots they had looted on Gunjar. The pants were sitting low on her hips, giving him an excellent view of her hips, waist and back. She crooked her neck to look at the wound on her back, swearing softly in what he assumed was her native tongue when her probing fingers came back soiled with blood. To his surprise, she didn't cast magic on the wound and bent to retrieve the mage robes. His sword tip must have hit the ground then, because she turned abruptly toward him, clutching the robes to her chest. She looked scared and her left hand was ready to summon her flames should the need arise. Sheathing his sword, he quickly apologized and turned his back on her. He cursed himself for being so disrespectful. He should have turned around the moment he saw no danger. Had she been scared he would attempt something with her? What kind of man must she think him to be now!

Shit, she had seen that look before. That mix of lust and need had always been a reliable sign to get the Void away. Living in the streets she had met very shady people, drunken guards, rogue noblemen, and the list kept on going. Except now, she could not get away. That man with the much-feared look was her only way out of this. She would have to be careful, she thought, changing the leather pants for the mage's trousers that were closer to her size. Even the boots were a better fit.

She then proceeded to open the book. She had not seen many spellbooks in her short time, but they were fairly simple to use. She flipped the pages until she found the incantation, then, placing her hands on both pages, she recited it. Hearing her talking in a strange language, Ralof turned around again. Hopefully, she was fully dressed. What she was doing, he had no idea. He had met very few mages and he had never witnessed the learning of a new spell. As she read the incantation, little sparks appeared on the paper around her hands; their white light dancing across her fingers and licking her arms without causing apparent pain. After a while, the book suddenly turned to dust, the sparks disappeared and she turned toward him.

" I'm ready", she mumbled, looking at him with a deadly gaze. "How's your arm by the way?"

"It's getting worst, but you don't have to bother yourself with it. Listen I'm sorry for…" said Ralof.

"I'll have a look", she said dryly, cutting him mid-sentence.

Without waiting for his answer, she lifted the mail sleeve to find the skin an angry shade of purple and black. Without any notice, she applied her frost-coated hand to his shoulder, putting a little more pressure than was necessary. The Nord grunted low at the pain she was causing him but he didn't lash. He really deserved it…

When she was done, she began walking toward the cell corridor without waiting for him. He faintly heard her mumble, "Apologies accepted" before he lightly jogged to catch up with her.

If Ralof had to be honest, he would say that he was glad Luthien was on his side. They had come across four Imperial soldiers in what looked like a man-made cave. She hadn't hesitated a minute when she saw the shimmering light on the ground and shot flames at it. He remembered thinking for half a second that the girl had finally lost her mind until the floor was on fire, crippling the archers standing on it. After that diversion, it had been a piece of cake to dispatch the enemies still standing and they had made it out of the cave without further injuries.


	2. Chapter 2: Whiterun

They had just emerged from the maze when Luthien fear came true. The strong blond man to whom she owed her life and escape turned on her. His muscled left arm circled her lithe form squeezing hard, pressing her against his large chest and backing her on a boulder while his right came to her face to muffle her. She struggled for a while; conscious it was to no avail. The man was a least three times her weight! It wasn't long until her fear was transformed into another. The black dragon, with ambers eyes, was flying above them. He circled once over their hiding spot, then, roaring, he flew away toward the snow-covered mountains. As soon as the beast was out of sight, Ralof released the small elf.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, concern showing on his face.

The elf was looking at him with suspicious eyes, her arms crossed against her chest. She had been scared, but the man hadn't tried to force himself on her. He had shielded her from the terrible predator that had very nearly killed them all. She could not hold it against him.

"Yes, I'm all right, thanks to you", she said, looking at the tip of her boots.

"I don't know what you've been through woman, but I'm not going to jump you the first chance I get. I might not be a refined nobleman but I'm not a beast", he said angrily. Then he mumbled, "Plus, I owe you my life", while kicking gravel on the ground.

"And I owe you mine, Ralof", she said, a grateful smile on her lips.

They stayed like this, looking at their feet, casting fleeting glances to each other until Ralof suggested they went to Riverwood. Luthien agreed, she didn't know what she would find there, but it was better than getting lost in the Skyrim forest.

Along the way, he showed her tall standing stones. To explain their use, he placed his hand on the Warrior Stone and a light shot from it. "It grants me easy learning of the fighting skills", he said, turning to look at her. The light mesmerized her; it was almost comical. Her neck crooked toward the sky, her mouth slightly agape, it seemed she was trying to see where the light went. Chuckling, the tall Nord nudged her toward the Stones. "Come on, choose one", he said with a smile in his voice. When she placed her grey hand on the Thief Stone, he was a little surprised. "You're honest about your occupations!" he said, looking at her suspiciously.

"The Thief kept me alive this long, I'll continue to trust him", she answered.

A little further on the road, he noticed her interest in the old ruin high in the snowy mountain. "It's called Bleak Falls Barrow, it's an old Nord ruin. A friend of mine and I used to plan to take it when we were kids". Luthien was mesmerized by the old stone ruin. She swore she could hear a faint chanting coming from it, calling to her. Her ears were probably playing tricks on her; there was no way she could hear anything this far away.

They made it to Riverwood without any further disturbance. The midday sun was shining hard on the thatched roofs giving it a golden hue and bringing out the blue, green and purple of the flora. The kids were running in the street, their laughter echoing in the valley, while the adults were hard at work by the sawing mill, the forge or in the fields. The weather was a lot more clement than in Helgen and Luthien felt a smile blossom on her lips. Maybe she stood a chance in that province after all. For his part, Ralof was smiling widely, waving his uninjured arm in the air to a strong blond woman in the sawmill.

"That's my sister, Gerdur, she owns the mill", he explained, still smiling. "Come on, I'm sure she'll want to meet you".

She looked at him in doubt, but he was already running toward the woman. The two hugged for a while, Ralof lifting Gerdur despite her protests. After a while though, he put her down, looking around him to locate his newfound friend. She was standing on his right, shyly behind him, her shoulder bowed and her crossed arms nervously clutching her robes.

"This is Luthien, we escaped together", he said introducing her, "I wouldn't have made it without her", he added, looking kindly at her, motioning for her to come closer. As soon as she was next to her, Gerdur grabbed her in a bone-cracking hug, making her squeal in surprise. Sensing her discomfort, her companion placed a hand on his sister's arm.

"Be careful sister, she's not built like a Nord!"

The woman loosened her grip, apologizing at the same time. "I'm simply so happy to see him! Thank you so much." After that, she invited them both in her house, leaving her husband, Hod, a strong-built blond man with an impressive moustache, in charge of the mill. Having seen his uncle Ralof, Frodnar came running after them, asking if he had met Ulfric Stormcloak and if he had killed any Imperial. At the mention of Imperial, Ralof's face lost its cheerfulness.

"Hadvar was with them", he said in a halftone to his sister.

"Frodnar, go watch the road for Imperials", she said to her son. "Come running if you see any, got it?"

Smiling at the crucial role he had been given, Frodnar started to run toward the street. "Don't worry Uncle Ralof, I won't let any of them sneak up on you!" And with that, he was out of earshot.

"Are you sure?" she then asked her brother, worried.

"Yes, there was no mistake possible" he answered, avoiding the mention of the headsman.

Having stayed mute until then, Luthien asked, "Who was he?"

It was Gerdur who answered, "Ralof and he were friends when they were kids. Always together those two! He left to enlist shortly after my brother. I always thought he had joined the Stormcloaks…" she seemed to take a few moments to think, "Though it is true we do not discuss politics so much here in the village".

"An Imperial kept me safe during the attack", the elf said, looking at the tall man beside her.

"That was Hadvar. He made sure you didn't freeze to death in that wagon. He wrapped you up in my cloak. He might be a traitor to his land, but he's still more or less decent" he finished, clearly wanting to change the subject.

They had made it into the house by that time. I was a simple thatched house but it was warm and smelled good of soup and roasted meat.

"There was a dragon in Helgen", said Luthien, sensing her companion discomfort.

"A dragon! Then Hilde wasn't going mad". She sat down to think it over. "The Jarl has to be warned! Riverwood is defenceless. We need more guards!" she pleaded looking at Luthien and her brother.

Ralof seemed ashamed when he answered, "You know me Gerdur, I would go in a heartbeat, but I fear it will bring trouble to the village. To you."

"I'll go, though I do not know the way…"

They both turned to look at the dark elf. She was still standing next to the door, unsure if she was really allowed to enter the house. She looked very uncomfortable.

Ralof walked to her "You need to rest first. The cold nearly killed you last night and you haven't eaten in two days!"

"The dragon won't wait for us to be ready", she told him. She was trying to be logical, but he could clearly see she was about to fall over from exertion. "Gerdur, can she stay here for the night?" he nearly begged his sister. "Of course, that goes without saying! You saved my brother Luthien, help yourself to anything you need, really!"

The moon white eyes opened wide in shock. She had never been so warmly greeted. Living in the streets, begging for food, she was used to be treated like a pest. Looking at Ralof for confirmation she was motioned toward the table and a large bowl of meat stew Gerdur had served. Sitting beside her, the blue-eyed man said, "You can have the bed tonight, I'll sleep in my nest in the attic". She was about to retort, but he frowned and she slowly nodded, thanking him.

Once they were done eating, Gerdur brought her a knapsack and a cape.

"I packed a few essential like food, clothes and a few healing potions should your journey prove eventful. I added a cloak too. You seem like you could use it".

After thanking the woman profusely, she went to the bed Ralof had shown her. Only removing the outer robe and hood, she fell asleep as her head touched the feather pillow.

A scream woke him in the middle of the night. He climbed down the ladder, jumping the last steps and ran to the source of the noise. Luthien was sitting in the bed, clutching the covers like her life depended on it. Tears were running freely on her ashen cheeks and sobs shook her shoulders.

"Luthien, what happened" asked Ralof, worried.

She answered him through sobs "I saw… I saw Him. The Dragon… He was in my… head. Telling me I was going to die… Ralof, I'm scared", she whispered.

Gerdur and Hod had been startled by the scream, but seeing the blond man sitting on the bed, talking to the elf, they went back to sleep. Frodnar was still sound asleep, his nose in Stump's fur.

"It was a nightmare little elf", he whispered in his deep voice, running a hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. "He can't get to you here".

"Ralof, it seemed so real!" she whispered, panic rising in her voice. "His eyes… they were burning me". She was now clutching his shirt, bringing her head to his chest. She could feel his slow heartbeat, his ribcage expanding with each breath he took. Her eyes seemed clouded as she spoke; like she was seeing her dream all over again.

"I am in a field, I can hear water falling. There is mist all around me and I'm screaming at it to go away, but it always comes back. I can see His eyes, burning in the mist but I can't see Him, I can't move. He tells me it's over, that I'm already dead". Her voice was but the tiniest whisper now. Even in the silence of the night, he could barely hear her.

"It's over now. Go back to sleep", he told her, trying to unclasp her hands from his shirt so he could also go back to his much-needed sleep. "Stay", she begged him, nearly ripping the threadbare shirt in her attempt to keep him close. When he agreed, she moved away to allow him to lay beside her. He was so bulky she had to rest her head on his chest and a leg over his calf to keep from falling to the ground. Unsure of what to do, he slipped an arm around her and rested his chin on top of her head, his hand caressing her short soft white hair. Taking a shaking breath in, she closed her eyes, the last warm salty drops falling on his shirt. She looked so fragile, lain in his arms like this. He felt strangely responsible of her, like the trust she put in him bound him to her. Her breath was now a little quicker, shallower. She was asleep, but he did not move. Instead, he caressed her face with the tip of his fingers as if he wanted to memorize it. His thumb ran from the lobe of her grey ear to the delicate pointy tip and she gasped in her sleep, her leg tightening around his calf, bringing her even closer to him. The strong reaction to such a small gesture took him by surprise. Curious, he did it again eliciting the same reaction. Through the light fabric of her robe, he could even feel her nipples hardening. Feeling like he was taking advantage of her vulnerability, he took his hand away from her sensible ear, placed it on her shoulder and closed his eyes, trying to forget how her reaction to his caress had affected him.

He woke early the next morning to find her still asleep half on him, half on the little part of the bed his impressive size left her with. He could feel a telltale tightness in his breeches and decide to get a quick dip in the cold river before he could embarrass himself and no doubt scare the Void out of her. For someone as jumpy as her, she surely slept tightly, he observed as he slipped unnoticed out of the house.

When she woke, she was alone in the house. A plate with bread, cheese and an apple sat on the bed stand. The sight of food reminding her of her hunger, she devoured the content of the plate before getting out of the house. She picked the knapsack and the cape and tried to find Ralof. He had done more for her in two days than every other person she had met in her twenty years of life. Her mother had been a Skooma user and had cared more for her next fix than her daughter. She had grown in a derelict shack on the Waterfront of the Imperial city and been raised by its other inhabitants and her grand-mother. When she had been old enough, she had done a few odd jobs for a handful of coins for a man in hooded leather armour. She had even spent a few days in jail once after one of her hit proved to be more complex than she had thought. As a kid, she had always envied the large boats that rested a few days in the port before going back on their endless journey, so, one day, she had hopped in a crate and thus boarded a tall ship sailing for Skyrim. Of course, the journey had been longer than she had hoped and she had been discovered. She had earned her keep doing menial jobs and occasionally sharing the captain's quarters preventing her from being thrown overboard.

She had arrived in Skyrim in the middle of a snowfall. Lost and freezing, she had spent a few days hidden in a stable before trying to get away from that white hell. She had walked south for days, but without maps, she was going in blindly. She had just passed the small city of Falkreath when she was taken as a prisoner.

She followed the noise of the sawmill and voices until she found them. Ralof had traded his armour for a plain linen tunic, like Hod, and was lifting a huge tree trunk in the mill despite his bruised shoulder. Once he was done, he signalled to Gerdur he was taking a break and jogged toward Luthien.

"Already ready to go, are you?" he said, smiling sadly.

"Well, the jarl has to be warned, doesn't it", she said, unsure.

"I'll show you the way then. Follow me"

They walked in silence until they reached the village's gate.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye then", said Ralof, looking at the ground.

"Yes", breathed the elf.

"You simply follow the road, it'll lead you right to the city" added the blond man.

They stayed a little longer facing each other, neither knowing what to say but still wishing they could say more. Finally, the Nord extended his hand toward the small woman. "May Talos watch over you" were his last words as she shook his hand and started to walk on the path.

She had walked maybe a hundred steps when she turned back and looked at the man, still watching her beneath the arch of the watch wall. Feeling a little stupid for doing so, she ran toward him. She could see him smile as she came closer.

"Back already!" he joked, giving her a lopsided grin.

"Ralof, what's a jarl?" she asked looking at him with an uncertain face.

He broke in laughter, her surprised face making him laugh even more.

"You really are something little elf!" he told her as he recovered. "Ready to risk your life for a village you barely know yet going in blind!"

"You have all been so kind to me. It's the least I can do!" she answered earnestly.

"A Jarl is the leader of a Hold. The Jarl of Whiterun, the one you need to talk to, lives in Dragonreach, a palace on top of the city." She saw her anguish at the mention of dragons. "You need not worry, it was named after a dragon was held prisoner and defeated in its hall, you won't meet any live one there". As he said that, he truly wished it to be true. In truth, there was no certainty she wouldn't encounter the black nightmare from Helgen again.

This time, she hugged him, her lithe arms circling his heavy ribcage. He was a little stunned at first but quickly hugged her back, placing a light kiss on her silky head. His lips millimetres away from her hair he whispered, "Be safe and come back to me Luthien". She nodded lightly against his chest. Lifting herself on tiptoes she placed a warm kiss on his cheek, the blond stubble scraping pleasantly on her lips. "Thanks for everything Ralof", she told him while letting go of him. In turn, he begrudgingly let his arms fall back at his side, allowing her to leave, yet again, on the path to Whiterun.

The trip was relatively eventless. She met one lone wolf who had planned to make a meal out of her, but a few flames on his truffle had him fleeing toward the woods in no time. She also met a Stormcloak soldier being escorted to the city by Legionnaires. Even though she wanted to help him run, she opted against it. She had the safety of a whole village on her shoulder and she was determined not to let them down.

She could see the city from where she stood. It was terribly small compared to the Imperial city she had grown in. The walls were made out of crude stone and wood that wouldn't do much to keep a dragon at bay and the "palace" Ralof had talked about looked more like a tall house. Her contemplation has broken by the sound of combat ahead. Once again, she was planning on walking quietly by to avoid being noticed when she heard a ferocious yell. Minutely forgetting her responsibility, she ran toward the noise, expecting to find a lifeless body. Instead, she was met with three combatants, the tallest man she had ever seen and two women, fighting what she could only qualify as a giant. The beast was wielding a crude hammer made out of an entire tree and a stone as large as his head if not more. The hammer was about to crash on the tall black-haired man when she let a column of fire leave her palm to make contact with the eyes of the abomination. Screaming in pain and momentarily distracted, the giant wobbled on his feet. The warriors didn't waste a second of that precious time and attacked his legs and neck until it fell to the ground in a cloud of dust, dead. She was about to walk away when one of the women, wearing what looked more like a tavern wench's dress than an armour called her back "Hey you, yes, you, the mage, come over here". Looking at the woman suspiciously she approached. "You handled yourself well here. You should think about joining the Companions". Wishing she could avoid the attention, Luthien thanked the woman and jogged toward the city. Unfortunately, the warriors were going in the same direction and quickly caught up with her. "I'm Farkas," said the huge man. If she had thought Ralof was tall, he looked more than average beside Farkas who towered almost three heads over her. "Pleasure, I'm Luthien", she said fearing that she would anger him by staying silent. "Don't listen to the Ice Brain, I'm Ria and she's Aela". Even though she wished the imperial woman had never begun talking, she let her. After all, she was a warrior. The woman talked about her fights against wolves, bears, necromancer, trolls and sabercats. Each time the man named Farkas wanted to join, she made a comment belittling his intelligence and continued on talking. Getting quickly tired of her rambling and mean comments, she excused herself, consequences be damned, and began talking with Farkas. It soon became clear that he was not the most brilliant fellow but he appeared to be extremely loyal to his twin brother, about whom he talked in the highest terms.

When they arrived at the city gates, the guards tried to hold her out, stating that the city was closed to outsiders. He quickly changed his mind, going as far as to apologize when the huge man said with his most ferocious snarl "She's with us, move along". As soon as the guard had resumed his post and opened the gate, Farkas winked at her, giving her a boyish small. "I like messing with the guards. Don't go making trouble about though, or I'll have to bludgeon you," he added very seriously. They parted ways near a large dead tree and she began climbing the stairs toward Dragonsreach.

A sword tip to the throat by a Dunmer woman who took the safety of the Jarl very seriously greeted her. She refused to even let her speak to the man until the Jarl himself ordered her to let her through. Sheathing her sword but keeping an eye on her, she stepped aside, allowing the newcomer to pass.

"You claim to bring news from Riverwood then?" said the Jarl looking at her from his throne. "Speak".

" Gerdur from Riverwood asks for protection for her village against a dragon".

"A dragon. Is that so."

"It was huge and black and it was last seen flying in this direction", said Luthien, eyes wide with fear.

"My Jarl" interjected a dark-haired Imperial, "We cannot send troops to Riverwood! It will be perceived as an attack by Falkreath".

"Riverwood cannot remain unprotected, please Jarl, they are good people" pleaded the elf. She would do whatever was needed to ensure Gerdur, Hod, Frodnar and most of all Ralof were not forced to face the black dragon on their own.

"Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once!" Said the man on the throne with a commanding voice that rand through the hall.

Bowing toward her Jarl, the menacing Dunmer woman exited the room to carry out the order of her leader.

Bowing in turn, Luthien thanked the old Jarl for the help he was sending to her friends. Just as she was thinking that she could accompany the soldiers to Riverwood to meet with Ralof again, the Jarl spoke.

"You have proven yourself reliable, I might have another matter for you to look into".

Feeling like she owed the man, she agreed.

"My court wizard, Farengar, is investigating this Dragon problem. You can talk to him for further information" and with that, she was dismissed.

She found the wizard bowing over an enchanting table. Not wishing to interrupt him, she chose to stand next to his desk until he acknowledged her. Her courtesy was completely wasted as he turned out to be a rude and unpleasant sort, asking her to go readily to her death on the vague rumour of a stone buried deep within a ruin. She remembered Bleak Falls Barrow from her trip with Ralof. She had felt the ruin call to her and had no wish to visit it. Knowing that she had little choice in the matter, being asked by the Jarl and all, she asked him for directions to the place. His answer had her wishing she could knock him over like the dragon had done to her. Maybe it would scare some respect in the man! He had said that she should go to the "worthless" village of Riverwood and ask one of the pathetic people living there for information. He had much more pressing matters to attend and very little time to deal with the likes of her.

She walked out of Dragonsreach fuming. Her frustration must have shown on her face for one of the guards asked, "Oh, let me guess, someone stole your sweet roll!" His colleague erupted with laugher as she turned to face the man and gave him her most angry glare. She realized on her way to Riverwood that the two tall Nords must have thought her quite cute and pathetic, trying to impress them, glaring at them with seemingly blind eyes, nearly tiptoeing to be able to look them in the eyes.

She had left Riverwood around noon of the same day and she was now coming back as glowing embers disappeared in the East. In one miserable day, she had managed to look like a lunatic in front of her saviour, nearly lost her head to an overzealous bodyguard, met the most pedantic man she had ever met and be mocked by guards. She had just survived a dragon attack yesterday and was about to delve in a possibly haunted ruin tomorrow. Her life was really changing from bad to worst… On the bright side, she thought, her newly appointed mission would give her a reason to meet with Ralof sooner than expected. Actually, she was thinking about asking the man to come with her. She was not a coward, but neither was she ready to die to fetch a "might be there" stone for a rude wizard, debt to the Jarl or not. Maybe, if they managed to get through the ruin he would hold her against him like last night. Maybe he would whisper in her hear like this morning and make her shiver even in the mild climate of the Whiterun Hold. Maybe next time she would kiss him a little less on the cheek, a little more on the lips.

Upon her arrival, she was a lot merrier than she had left Whiterun and Riverwood was as beautiful as she had left it. The mill was turning relentlessly, pushed by the steady stream. The town folk were gathering near the Inn to share a drink together after a hard day of work. Sven was composing odes for his sweetheart the beautiful Camilla while Faendal was walking around, displaying three rabbits and a fox, the fruit of his hunt, making sure this very same lady was aware of his prowess. Frodnar was bragging about his last trick to his father, Luthien overheard something about nailing a coin to someone's doorstep, though she was too far to understand anymore, it brought a smile to her face. Gerdur, for her part, was trying to look stern as her son and husband laughed. Life was going on except for one thing; she could not see Ralof. Deciding she had walked enough for one day, she chose to ask Gerdur right away instead of walking aimlessly in the village, hoping to find the man. She was greeted with a warm hug from the blond woman and many thanks from the villager as she approached. The guards had arrived about three hours before her in town. After being toasted to a few times and being bought a few bottles of mead, she managed to talk to her saviour's sister.

"Say Gerdur, have you seen Ralof? I can't seem to find him."

"Oh dear", said the woman. "He left after the guards arrived without you. He didn't think you'd be back for him. He went back to Windhelm, to fight for Skyrim".


	3. Chapter 3: Bleak Fall's Barrow

The tiny ice flakes were making it hard for her to see where she was going. The snowstorm had been raging since she began walking on the path toward Bleak Falls Barrow. Gerdur had given her a pair of gloves to go with the cape and boots but it was barely enough to keep the cold at bay. Her cheeks and nose were ruby red and the sharp snowflakes were sending a needle-like pain through her every time they made contact with the cold flesh. She had tried to wrap a cloth around her face in the beginning but the breath had crystallized on it making it extremely uncomfortable. Through her nearly closed eyes, she could see a black shape ahead of her. "Finally" she protested between her clacking teeth, "Let's hope it's warmer inside!"

Through the wind scream, she didn't hear the arrow whistling past her and the warning shout to back of if she favoured her life. Thus, to say she was surprised when a large Orc came running toward her, claymore in hand, was an understatement. She had taken a few moments to gaze toward Riverwood, hoping to see a little of what she could nearly call home in this hostile land. The Orc bandit, though, had the habit to roar at the top of his lung while charging at an enemy. That habit of him was the only thing except for pure dumb luck that could explain how Luthien had managed to keep her head attached to her shoulders. To the last moment, she dived face first in the snow and managed to evade the deadly iron blade. As strong as the Orc was though, his weapon was still incredibly heavy and relatively slow to manipulate. He was clearly the kind of warrior who expects his opponent to either run away in fear or crumble beneath his first blow. As imposing and threatening as he might have looked, he possessed neither the skill nor strength of Farkas, Aela, or even Ria.

While the brute was lifting his sword from the snowy ground where its blade was embedded, the lithe elf side rolled away from him and called ice to her palms. It had nothing to do with the light frost she had used on Ralof's shoulder. It was its raw form: a torrent of ice shards, snowflakes, and blood-freezing wind. Recalling her night in Imperial custody, she aimed at the Orsimer's hands. She had limited Magicka and could not hold the spell for long but in the harsh climate of Skyrim, it took only a little cold to weaken her assailant's hold on the deadly sword handle and force him to drop it. The look of utter surprise on the bandit's face was almost comical as she realized such a delicate-looking woman had bested him. Desperate to end the fight, Luthien unsheathed the little steel dagger, a parting gift from Frodnar, from her belt and plunged it the moss green throat in front of her. The pouring warm blood smoked in the freezing air and drizzled on her gloves, cape, and face as the man fought to breathe despite his severed trachea.

Being born in the slum that was the Imperial City Waterfront, she had been faced with death, both violent and peaceful, quite early in her life. Even though she had seen a few rebels' executions on The Eight's Plaza, formerly known as Talos Plaza, she had never been the one to end a life. The beggars and ruffians she had been raised with had always insisted that no matter how dire the circumstances, you never killed on a job. Until now, she had always abided by that rule so it came to her as a shock that death took time. From the moment her dagger cut through the cartilage, the man had clutched her hand, trying to hold the weapon in place to seal the hole, then pressed desperately on the wound to keep the blood from pouring out, coughed and gurgled on the white snow, a carmine halo growing around his head. She had stayed motionless beside him until an arrow embedded itself mere centimeters from her feet. Calling the ice to her palms once more, she searched the snowstorm for a moving shadow or any hint that her attacker was in sight. Having never studied the Arcane Arts, she knew she would have to get close to the man to kill him. She had never had the coins to buy a spell book and the mages' shops were always a huge fear of her. Who could be a hundred percent sure they had not brought forth Deadras and Atronachs from Oblivion itself to protect their property?

"Time to die, hero" screeched the archer running toward her, a dagger in his hand.

Obviously, there was a good reason this little gang had decided to build their camp on a Gods forsaken ruin instead of a large road; they were not the brightest kind. Thanking the Thief, she shot ice and cold toward the running man. For a moment, his eyes widen in surprise than he rolled on the side to get away from the blood-freezing cold. He was a lot more agile than his brother in crime and Luthien thought, a much more dangerous opponent. He was moving quickly around her, his red eyes alight with malice, and his dagger taking jabs at her. The bandit was a Dunmer like her so the use of fire was definitely a waste of Magicka. He was too quick to be bothered much by the cold. She needed something as quick as him. Lightning, she thought. She had found the old tome in the torture chambers in Helgen while escaping with Ralof. Fortunately, or unfortunately, in this case, she had never had an opportunity to use it. Learning a new spell was a lot like swinging a sword, it was exhausting the first few times, then it got easier and more deadly with each try. Calling upon the lighting energy, she cast it toward the dagger. The sizzling light made contact with the metal in a white flash causing the bandit to scream in pain and let go of his weapon. He tried to switch back to his bow but the little woman tackled him to the ground before he could reach it. She stabbed him until she stopped moving and continued afterward until her arms were too heavy to lift. Gasping and gagging she removed the blood-soaked gloves and cape and threw them to the ground. She was freezing but at least she couldn't smell the viscous liquid wherever she turned her head. She ran toward the flight of stairs and was met at the top by a huge Nord with a war hammer. A look of resignation on her face, she backed slowly toward the cliffside of the Barrow's esplanade until she could go no further. The barbarian man was walking slowly toward her a vicious grin on his face.

"I'm gonna smash that disgraceful face of yours Elf and I'm gonna have so much fun", he said in a low voice, sending shivers of fear through her.

Maybe she could jump down the cliff. Maybe she would survive. She was too tired to try to run away, too tired to fight. She was not the right woman for the job; she could not save Riverwood from the dragon. She was just a miserable thief refugee about to be smashed in a pathetic try to play the hero.

The man was raising his hammer, taking a step back to build up some momentum, not that it would take much to break her frail bones. She was looking at him with resignation when for some unknown reason she was compelled to drop to the ground just as he brought the massive weapon down. He had expected to encounter resistance at some point in his swing but the skull he was aiming for was not where it was supposed to be. Unbalanced, he fell forward, his feet hitting the little elf body as he tried to stabilized himself by taking a step forward. Balled up on the frozen stone floor, she heard a scream, a matte noise, and then nothing. There was only she and the sound of the wind; tearing itself on the old stone pillars and sharp mountain peaks. She took a moment to look around, then, seeing no one else, she ran toward what appeared to be a huge cast-iron door. Up close, she could see geometrical patterns on it; it was a piece of art in itself. Taking hold of the large door handle with both hands, she pulled with all of her remaining strength on it. The door gave in easily for such a heavy on and she quickly slipped inside.

It was surprisingly warm inside. Not Riverwood warm but it was not freezing like outside. The heavy stone walls, carved in the very mountain, were doing a good job of keeping the snow and ice outside. She could even see mushroom growing on the cave floor. Sighing, she dropped to the dirt floor. She was about to make herself comfortable when she noticed skeevers walking about. She could count three alive. One out of them seemed to be sick and was covered in rotting lesions.

"Ataxia", she thought. It was a terrible disease, especially for a thief as it sapped the affected person fine motor skills, making it incredibly hard to properly hold and maneuver a lockpick or pick a pocket. She had heard about desperate thieves killed because of it and even more desperate one killing for a potion to cure the disease. She would have to be careful in dealing with this one.

Further away, near a tunnel, she could see the sleeping form of two more bandits. She must have been terribly distracted when she first entered the room to overlook such important information. Hopefully, she was naturally discreet which explained why neither the beasts nor the bandits had taken notice of her presence. Magic would not save her this time; she would have to sneak past three skeevers, which was not a menial task, and two sleeping bandits. Unsheathing the dagger and clutching it in her shaking hand, she began her walk. Her senses heighten when she was on a job and this was not very different. She could hear the skeevers' claws clicking and scrapping on the rock floor as they walked. She could hear her own breathing and heart beating as if she was alone in the dark. Even the light snoring of the sleeping bodies was perceived by her overly attentive ears. The first overgrown rat she snuck up on was caught by surprise. It didn't even squeal as the blade slit its throat. She was on her way to the sick one when bits of gravel crunched beneath her feet. She froze instantly, listening carefully for any changes in the bandits breathing patterns or for any sign of acknowledgment from the skeevers. The oversized rats hissed at each other but did not make a move toward her. Thanking the Thief once more, she continued her walk. She thighs muscles were on fire from crouching like this after the long climb but she dismissed it. She could allow herself to be tired when she made it to safety but for the moment, she needed to live long enough to reach that. Sidestepping to the left, she made a curve to avoid the ill-looking rodent and pounced on the unsuspecting one. "Two down, three to go", she thought grimly, continuing her way toward the sleepers.

She was about to bring her dagger to the sleeping man's throat when a doubt seized her. They hadn't attacked her; they were sound asleep. They were no threat at all and she was about to end their lives. Beneath its snow, its beautiful villages, and kind people, Skyrim was changing her in a way she began to dread; who could know how far it would lead her? She was not innocent, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she had never killed in cold blood before. She kneeled beside the man, raising her dagger above his naked chest and stuck, ending the line of thought. After all, what was a bandit's life compared to the safety of the nice people of Riverwood?

The blow was miscalculated though and the dagger didn't quite pierce the heart giving a few seconds to the man to scream in surprise. The woman sleeping beside him was instantly awake. Grabbing a short sword, she was upon Luthien in a flash. "You are going to pay for your crime Elf!" she screamed slamming the sword in the ground where the little Dunmer was moments before. The lithe Mer had been so scared by the scream of the man she had forgotten the dagger in his chest. With the enraged woman trying to dice her up, there was no way to retrieve it from the bones, let alone reach it. From the corner of her eye, she could see the sick skeever skipping to join the fight. Bringing fire to her palms, she called in her native tongue "Ancestors, I call to you in my time of need, hear my plea and grant me your protection". The bandit woman was about to retort when a cloak of fire appeared, covering her opponent in blazing flames. The oversized rat that was about to take a bite of tasty looking grey flesh got his whiskers burnt instantly. His retreat was too slow and his greasy fur caught fire a few moments later. Luthien could see the bandit's fear in her eyes; clearly, she was not accustomed to magic. Using her opponent's hesitation to her advantage, she allowed the flames in her palms to flow toward the woman. She was wearing a fur armour with metal plates in strategic places but it did very little to protect her from the inferno that rained on her. She managed to land a harsh blow on the Elf's arm before the fur on her clothes caught on fire.

Even if she lived a thousand years, Luthien would never be able to forget the gut-wrenching scream of the burning woman. How she wished Ralof had been there; he would have killed her quickly with a powerful thrust of his sword, with mercy. Her arm hurt something fierce and she couldn't think of moving before fixing it. The gash was deep and bleeding profusely. Luthien had never endured such a wound and had certainly never attempted to heal one! She was tempted to use one of the precious healing potion Gerdur had given her but decided against it. He had enough Magicka to cast a healing spell and there could come a day when she wouldn't. Turning her attention to the flesh, she visualized the repair needed then, summoning the golden glow in her hand, she channeled it to her arm. As always, the glow numbed the area and tingled her flesh along the way. She could feel her energy-depleting quickly and the wound closing slower than expected. It would have to do, she thought grimly. She could not afford to be caught by a bandit with her Magicka depleted, her skills with a dagger would do very little to protect her against her foes.

She had come running to the little man! Damn that thief to the deepest pit of Oblivion! She had risked her life to free him from that monstrous spider and he went running ahead of her with the promised prize. Not only had he attempted to cheat her, but he had caused such a ruckus he had awakened the dead! The shambling mummified corpse had nearly caused her heart to stop. Its (she refused to give it a human status) glowing blue eyes had located her abnormally quickly and despite its advanced state of decay, it had run toward her wielding an old black sword. Fire was her favourite magical element; it came naturally to her unlike ice or even worse, storm. She cast long rays of fire toward the running corpse, backing away as it came closer. It felt like an eternity before she heard the sound of snapping articulations and saw the broken monster fall pell-mell on the tomb floor. She dealt with the remaining two in a similar fashion, shooting flames until the parchment-like skin caught on fire alternating with pauses to allow the magical energy to replenish in her body.

To her utter disgust, she had to rummage through the nasty little Dunmer thief's pockets to retrieve the "Dragon Claw" he had promised her. She cursed herself for cutting him down before asking for information on how to use it. She had pocketed a few Septims when she found a little journal inside the Mer's bag. She opened it and closed it quickly in dismay. It was written in Norse tongue! That traitorous Dunmer couldn't have written it in Dunmeri! It would take her hours to decipher the few pages. Cursing in her native tongue, she stored the little leather-bound book in her bag and continued forward, hoping to find a safer place to read than a tomb full of waking dead bodies.

She discovered soon that not all corpses rose from the dead. The one who did had an unnatural shine to them; like time had passed a lot slower for them than the rest. She learned to spot them before they spotted her and set them ablaze before they had a chance to open their entranced dead eyes. After what seemed like hours she finally arrived in a large corridor carved in black stone. She could see an immense stone disc at the end of it. As she got closer, she could see it was made of four concentric circles. The middle one was small with little holes carved in it. The first one had a moth carved in it, then the one above a bear and the one above an owl. She was tired, exhausted even. She had killed in a few hours more than she had even thought possible. She had murdered in cold blood. She had been tricked and she had nearly died a few times. And now, she was stuck in front of what seemed to be a huge puzzle without a clue about what to do with it. Despair caught up to her and she curled in a little ball at the bottom of the giant stone enigma and allowed herself to cry. " Ralof" she called between sobs, "I can't …do this alone… I need you". Of course, the kind strong man could have helped her. He could have helped her with the killing, he would have protected her against the dead as he had from the dragon, and he would have caught the nasty thief and forced him to explain everything he knew about this despicable place. He would read the journal to her with his deep calming voice and he would solve the puzzle. He would be the hero Riverwood needed, not her. But he wasn't here; she was. Alone.

She woke up a few hours later with dried tears staining her ashen cheeks and clutching her steel dagger. The sleep had done her some good and lifted her spirit. Sighing harshly in determination, she grabbed the thief journal and began her reading. At least, she recognized most of the letters, which meant she could enunciate most of the words almost correctly with enough concentration. Apparently the Claw held power. It said something about a decoration, which didn't seem relevant. It was also a key and apparently the claw in her palms was the solution. With that knowledge, she took the claw from her bag and carefully placed it on the floor in front of her. If it held power she could take no chances as magic tended to be dangerous. She examined it for a while, avoiding direct contact as much as possible. On the palm part of the claw, she could see engraving quite similar to those on the stone circles. Unfortunately, they were in the wrong order. Maybe the thief had been wrong. Maybe the claw was the solution to another puzzle. Maybe she would have to go back through the tombs. Shuddering at the idea, she stood up to examine the engraving on the stone circle. Each concentric circle was separated from the next by a deep gouge; like they were carved from different pieces. They also seemed to vanish in the base of the circle, which, it seemed, was also carved from a different block of stone. She tried to press the engraved moth on the lower circle. Much to her surprised, it moved! Not much, but she could feel the stone give a little like it was meant to be mobilized. Following the curve of the circle, she pushed the moth to the right. The stone circled moved slowly, grinding against the middle one, and revealed an engraved bear. She very nearly cried out in relief when the animal sculpted on the wall aligned exactly like the one on the claw. To her dismay though, the puzzle didn't seem to be quite solved yet for nothing seemed to happen. That was until she noticed for the second time the little holes in the circle's hub. Testing a theory, the applied the claw in the asperity and pushed it all the way in as it fitted. Taking an example from the other circles, she nudged it to the right. Dust rose from the puzzle as the stone discs rotated around the hub, aligning the bears together. Luthien barely had time to pull the Claw free, before the heavy contraption began to lower in the ground. She coughed a few times, attempting to muffle it in her sleeve until another corridor was revealed behind what proved to be the most elaborate locked door she had ever opened. As the dust settled, she could see a large natural cave with a little stream crossing it. She could also hear an unnatural chanting coming from what seemed to be a huge stonewall. She approached, entranced. It was a funny and quite scary thing actually. She knew she ought to be careful as she was still in a tomb where the dead could rise at a moment's notice, and yet she couldn't seem to slow her ascension. As she came closer, she could feel her sight darkening. Could night fall in a cave, she thought? A rune on the wall seemed to have swallowed all the light there was in the room. She could clearly see it, shining a bright blue as everything went dark around her. The chanting was deafening now as if a glorious hero was returning home, and the light turned white and passed through her making her fall to her knee.

The light returned slowly and the choir fell silent. That's when she heard it; the telltale deep "clop" of a stone coffin being pushed open from the inside. Despite her weakened state, she summoned the flames in her palms. Once more, she would have to dislocate the dead with fire. She was about to shoot flames to the cadaver when she heard the strong voice that seemed to come from times immemorial. The air turned solid and she was thrown back on the curved carved wall. She rolled on her left just in time to avoid the black claymore that came crashing down where her head had been moments ago. Instead, it hit the stone floor, creating little sparks as it made contact. This corpse was definitely stronger than the one she had encountered before. It turned the air solid as the Dragon had done in Helgen and it wielded the sword much more like a warrior would than like a barbarian would a club.

She had three bloody gashes on her and her robes were drenched when the walking dead finally fell, completely lifeless to the ground. Luthien had to wait a good long while until she had enough energy to attempt to close the wounds on the chest, back, and thigh. Once she had once more depleted her Magicka in tingling golden light, she noticed a finely engraved stone strapped inside the burnt corpse ribcage. If she hadn't burned through the skin she would never have found it, hidden has it was. It must have been the Dragon Stone the court wizard had sent her to fetch. That mannerless boar! He had very nearly gotten her killed for a piece of pavement! A heavy piece of pavement none the less, she thought, as she lifted it in her arms. There was no way she could store it in her bag and not crush the fragile potion vial she had hidden there. She would have to carry it in her arms until she reached Whiterun. It would be a terribly long journey!

A dragon! They were sending her to fight a dragon! As an expert none the less! She had tried to explain to the Jarl as politely as she could while being so scared that she was not an expert and that she owed her life to a very strong and able man but it didn't change the outcome. She was running along the path toward the western watchtower with a handful of terrified guards and the angry Dunmer warrior she had come to know has Irileth. All along, all she could think about was "I'm going to my doom".

When they arrived, the watchtower was already in ruin and the guards were standing on high alert. Some were fidgeting with their weapon, pacing nervously, or screening the sky to see the dragon. To be honest, they felt it coming before anyone could actually see anything. The low-frequency flapping sound was a subtle yet very eloquent cue of the beast's arrival. Despite the fear coursing through her veins, Luthien had to admit that it looked smaller than the black monster from Helgen. It had a golden hue to its scales and the sun shone through the delicate membrane of its wings, exposing little blood vessels like a stained-glass piece of art. As strange as it might seem, she could swear it was talking to her, taunting her. Even though she could not understand a word it said, she felt as though she knew the words; not unlike the foggy memory of a dream.

The guards were shooting arrows at the beast but nothing seemed to penetrate its scaled hide. As if it wasn't already hard enough to bring it down, the flying monster kept circling widely around the tower, staying stationary only long enough to unleash a torrent of fire on its assailants, making it increasingly difficult to aim at it. It was a guard that suggested they concentrated their efforts on the wings. Being scale-free, it seemed to be the only weak spot in the dragon anatomy. Luthien had tried to send a few flames its way, but it never seemed to do any damage. In fact, the scale and even wings seemed to repel the flames when she managed to get close enough to the beast. The attack on its wing proved to be fruitful and, with his wings bleeding and torn, the monster crash-landed in the moor. An unlucky guard made the mistake of getting too close to its powerful jaw and was swallowed whole in front of his companions. Even the irascible Irileth showed fear and disgust as the poor man's screams were ended in a blood-freezing "crunch".

It took the death of two other guards before the beast was finally slain. It gave one last pained howl and its heavy horned head fell to the ground, lifting a cloud of dust. A few moments of heavy silence later, cheers started to be heard all over the battlefield. Friends and comrades were slapping each other's backs and looking after the wounded. With its large eyes closed and blood pouring from its many wounds the dragon looked a lot less menacing. Taking this opportunity to examine the beast, Luthien approached the fallen monster. Even though she knew it to be dead, she couldn't help to glance nervously at its scaled eyelid as if the dragon was only staging its death to eat her in one gulp as soon as she let her guard down. It was probably her undivided attention to its eyes that prevented her from seeing her opponent's flesh combust as she approached. The silence fell once more on the battlefield as everyone watched, transfixed, the little Dunmer girl, eyes wide and mouth open, being bathed in white light emanating from the burning corpse until there was nothing but gigantic bones left.

It began with whispers of old legends and the whispers became talk until the talk was spread amongst the guards like a fire in a dry field. Luthien could hear noises far away. She could see the man running toward her, checking on her. A tall Nord, who seemed to be the captain of the detachment was talking to her. She could see his lips moving but could not make out the words. She felt a hand being placed on her shoulder and before she could stop herself, she was screaming at the top of her lung in a language she understood deep down yet could not quite translate. As soon as the sound left her lips, she saw the guards being pushed away as if an invisible hand had thrown them away. At that very moment, the talk turned into cheers and surprised exclamations.

"Dragonborn" was all Luthien could make out before she passed out.

She woke up on a cot in a quiet, softly lit, tiled room. She could hear whispers and running water. It smelled of flowers and salves; a temple, she was in a healing temple. She was trying to sit when a robed woman rushed by her side.

"You gave us quite a scare you know", she said. As she received no answer from the little elf but a surprised face she went on. "We were thinking it had been too much for you to handle". Sensing incomprehension from her patient she began explaining what the guards had told her. " You killed that dragon outside the city and you absorbed its soul! You have the Dragonborn power"

"What's a dragon born?" whispered Luthien.

"It's a Norse legend! Of course, being from Morrowind you wouldn't have heard of it. The Dragonborn is said to be the ultimate dragon slayer. A strong enough man can maim, even kill a beast as mighty as a dragon, but only the Dragonborn can kill it for good by absorbing its very soul."

"I'm not strong enough to kill a dragon. There has to be a mistake. I barely touched it; the guards and Irileth were the ones to do it."

"Strong enough or not, the Jarl wants to see you. As you can argue, I'll assume you are fit to see him?" said the woman with an amused smile on her face.


	4. Chapter 4: Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content

She had been walking for hours toward the tallest mountain in Skyrim. To be truthful, Luthien didn't really know what she expected from her meeting with Jarl Balgruuf, but an honorary title and being summoned by reclusive elders was not amongst the things she had thought possible. Once more she was knee-deep in blood-freezing snow, risking her life. She would have thought having lived on the rough neighbourhood of the Imperial City Waterfront would have toughened her up and taught her how to say "no" once in a while, but she was stuck acting like a little lost puppy. Ralof should have been there, she thought. He would have told the Jarl to use his guards to kill the dragon instead of a lost elf. He would have protected her from the danger of the road. He would have kept her warm at night. His loyalty to Skyrim was a truly remarkable thing, but she had very much hoped to see him again. After all, he had asked her to come back to him.

Ralof was back in Windhelm; the cold stone wall reminding him he was very far from his sister's thatched house. He stepped in the Jarl's Palace, intending to check on his leader, Ulfric Stormcloak. As usual, the man was slouched in his impressive stone throne sending the image he was governing the harsh land of Skyrim without effort. As soon as he saw the Riverwood blond man, the Jarl's deep voice rang in the hall.

"Ah, Ralof of Riverwood you're back with us!"

"My Jarl", said the younger man bowing respectfully, his right fist on his heart. "I'm relieved to see you alive".

Addressing his steward Jorleif he added, "He's a true son of Skyrim this one". Turning to his trusted housecarl he continued. "Galmar, bring me an Officer's Cloak".

After a short while, the leader addressed Ralof once more.

"How's the little Ashborn."

The soon-to-be-Officer felt his blood boil at the injurious term. Tightening his jaw he answered, "She's fine my Jarl".

"I didn't know you had a thing for those. Though a small body must have its advantages", the large man said with a salacious tone.

Since when had Ulfric become so disrespectful of the Dunmers! He had never felt the need to knock some respect in his leader before. Actually, he realized, he used to laugh at these jokes before meeting Luthien. Swallowing his anger he politely replied, "I wouldn't know my Jarl"

"You see me relieved!" the man barked, apparently thinking it was a hilarious joke.

With his new blue drape and bear cloak Ralof walked toward Candlehearth Hall. Hopefully, he would find a few large pints of mead and a fine Nord woman to get his mind off of the lithe Dunmer that haunted his dreams since the night in Riverwood.

Obviously, there was more to the officer's cape that the extra warmth it procured. It seemed to attract a few interested looks from the women in the inn. The waitress, Susanna, had even whispered a few words in his ear suggesting they grabbed a room for the night. She was everything Luthien was not: tall, Nord, longhaired, blond, curvy, and she was clearly not alarmed by a man's touch. Making his mind, Ralof stood up, grabbing his pint, and made his way toward the blond waitress. Slipping a strong arm around her waist from behind he whispered in her ear, his beard tickling her neck "Still up for that room?"

She cast him a sideway-glance and with a little smirk allowed herself to be guided to a room on the first floor.

As soon as the door closed behind them he was on her, his lips caressing her neck and cleavage.

"Eager eh", said the woman, pulling his newly acquired cloak off his shoulders. The corset was taking too long to untie and he pulled helplessly at it until Susanna slapped his hands away. "You'll break the lace", she said, expertly loosening the offending piece of clothing and letting it fall to the ground. Ralof's large hands then pushed the ample blouse off the creamy white shoulders, his mouth once more latching itself to the woman's neck and breasts while he untied the skirt. Moaning wantonly the blond woman unbuckled the leather armour taking a step back to admire the powerful naked chest beneath. The muscled rippled as he lifted her rubbing her underwear covered crotch against his tented leather pants. He threw her on the bed, eliciting a little cry of surprise from the naked waitress, taking a few seconds to remove his pants, boots, and underwear. Looking at him from under her eyelash, she bit her lower lip looking at his impressive manhood. He smirked at her, lowering his heavy frame on her while she hastily removed her moist underthings. He wasted very little time in caresses and kisses, and, after a few rough strokes at her pleasure bead that made her breath catch in her throat, he pushed his middle finger between her wet folds. Adding another appendage inside her warm body, he brought a nipple to his mouth and sucked at it, his tongue caressing the perky pink flesh. The waitress's hands were caressing his back and pulling at his hair while she moaned loudly. Her head was extended to the back, slightly turned to the right. He pulled his fingers from her wet channel and rubbed roughly her perky nipple. This was when he made his first mistake; he brought his dry hand to her exposed left ear, caressing the soft curve, expecting it to end in a delicate, sensitive pointy tip. Groaning in disappointment he roughly pushed himself inside of her. His thrusts were powerful and harsh, yet were apparently pleasing his partner who wrapped her long and powerful legs around his waist pulling him even deeper. Even though the experience was enjoyable, he didn't feel quite satisfied; the skin was too pale, the hair too long, the body too large, the curves too pronounced, the ears too round. Chasing the forming face from his mind, he focused on the woman beneath him putting even more desperation in his thrusts. He rubbed her pleasure bead once more, hoping the tightening of her wall would bring him back but it was hopeless. He could feel himself softening but he could not allow it to happen or he would never hear the end of it. She was everything he should have wished for and yet… He closed his eyes and large moon-white, seemingly sightless, eyes stared back at him. Resigned, he kissed the woman's neck and shoulder avoiding her full beast and round ears. He slowed his thrusts and tried to ignore the woman disappointed moans. Burying his face in the crook of her neck so she wouldn't see him, eye closed, silently mouthing another's name he conjured Luthien to his mind. She was beautiful, moaning in his arms her gaze never leaving his. He could feel the other woman tightening around him; she was close. He brought his hand once more to her clitoris, this time rubbing the sensitive flesh lovingly, alternating circles and light vibrations. He felt her rhythmically clench around his member her loud moans nearly breaking his illusion. He recalled the night Luthien spent in his arms, or more exactly wrapped around him, how she had moaned in her sleep, how her nipples had hardened at his light innocent touch, how her delicate hand grasped his shirt, how she said his name and he felt himself become undone lightly biting the other woman's shoulder to smother his low moan. "Luthien".

He realized his final mistake when he rolled to the side, freeing the woman of his weight. She was looking at him with a strange grin. "Luthien then… You're an elf lover?" Seeing by his stiff expression he was not about to answer her, she added, "They are lithe and agile though. I can't blame you". With the look he was casting her, she could have grown a third arm, it wouldn't have been any different. " Oh, don't act so surprised! One can get bored with Nords. Size isn't everything you know". After a little silence, she added, "I'm surprised to find that in a Stormcloak Officer though. It must be hard, I'm sorry." And with that, she got dressed and exited the room whispering, "Your secret is safe with me by the way" as she closed the door behind her.

There was no way she was delving in yet another haunted crypt, tomb or cave without Ralof. The Greybeards would have to wait a little while longer to get the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and the world would have to deal without a fully taught Dragonborn because she had neither a death wish nor an impaired mind; she knew when she was outmatched. Windhelm was far from High Hrothgar but she didn't mind, she would get him and they would fight side by side. She would cast spells, burn their eyes while he would charge, powerful as ever, alternating sword and axe until none was left standing. Until then, she would hide in the shadows, in the trees, even in the bushes, but she would not fight another dragon, giant, troll, or anything larger than a rat alone.

Of course, she arrived during a snowstorm, and in that completely white landscape stood the black, steadfast, city of Windhelm. She didn't expect the Stormcloak capital to be so rundown. The old black stone blocs were dirty; some missing; others seemed ready to fall, yet it was quite an impressive sight. She was nearly frozen to the bone, her nose was runny and she hadn't had a decent meal in three days so when she heard insults being proffered at a Dunmer woman she saw red.

"I don't like the way you talk big oaf" she screamed at him in her more menacing voice.

The Nord man simply scoffed and turned away. "Hey I'm talking to you Ice-Brain!" she continued, deciding the injurious terms the warrior woman, Ria, had used were appropriate.

"You know Ashborn, I wouldn't mind fighting you but you're too small, I would crunch you."

"It would be a good riddance", added another man. " Damn Imperial spies!"

A woman joined the show "Come on, smack her around, and be done with it!"

Suddenly, Luthien wasn't sure she had made the right move. If the three turned against her, she would indeed be smacked around; she needed to fight one on one to remotely stand a chance.

"Here's the deal", said the Nord wearing the white hat, "You win, I'll change my talk. I win, … ha-ha… you die!"

"Ok" answered Luthien, avoiding long speeches to keep her voice from wavering. The man's grin faltered for a second in surprise. "No weapon, no fancy magicks, Ashborn".

She nodded while he placed his tankard on the frozen ground and stood up, rolling his large shoulders. A small crowd had gathered around them, Nords cheering loudly, forming a tight circle around the two opponents and three Dunmers that stood silent a few meters away from the circle.

Luthien tried to gauge her opponent but he didn't give her the opportunity to do so. He charged, bellowing a war cry that froze her blood even more than the snow. She was feeling like she did in Helgen, except Ralof was not here for her. She was brought back to reality by a huge fist connecting with her cheek. Even with the cold air, she could feel the tissues swelling. She could clearly not hope to overpower him, but maybe she could outrun him. The circle was too small to allow her to really run but she could avoid his punches and maybe, maybe, he would tire. She had won a few street fights like this when she was younger except the opponents were a lot smaller. She crouched, bowing her head forward to avoid another punch to the face, and rolled on her side to force the man to turn. He was slower than expected, probably due to the mead he had been ingesting a few minutes earlier, but he was still quite dangerous. She jabbed him in the ribs before he could attempt anything and rolled again. She stood quite rapidly behind his back and sent him an elbow to the kidney before crouching again. The man was now furious and the crowd was booing and shouting even louder than before. The elf caught a strong fist to the stomach and a powerful push to the chest that had her flat on her back before she could place another punch. Crawling back up while the man was roaring to the crowd, lifting his muscled arms in the air to earn more cheers, she jumped on his back, knocking him on the head a few times without any result before being thrown, once more, on the ground. Too knocked out to lift herself up, she saw the man approach and place his boot on her throat, crushing her trachea and cutting her air supply. She tried to fight the pressure, pushing desperately against the sole of the boot, kicking the ground with all her might but nothing did it. She could feel her vision blurring and her hands getting numb. He was not joking when he had said she would die if he won; He clearly had no intention of letting her go. She didn't have enough air to enunciate a spell but she could maybe croak one or two syllables. Drawing the last of her air, she barely whispered "FUS RO".

The crowd fell silent as she stood up massaging her sore throat. The man she had been fighting looked at her with the utmost fear displayed on his face.

"You were trying to kill me!" Luthien coughed with a wince.

"Please" said the man, "I didn't know", he pleaded, kneeling.

Whispers of old legends could be heard in the crowd, "Dragonborn" was said a few times in hushed tones before the people scurried back to their houses leaving Luthien alone with the defeated man.

"Please don't kill me, I'll change my talk I promise, please Dragonborn".

The man was nearly crying, whimpering as she walked closer to him. Straitening the best she could, the little elf took her more important air and declared, "I will spare you this time, but if I hear anything; a complaint, a rumour, a whisper. I will find you". And with that, she turned her back to him and walked briskly toward the stairs, which, she hoped, led to the palace. When she was out of sight, she started running, hoping the man had not changed his mind. Looking over her shoulder, she was relieved to see no one but a beggar and two guards.

"You must be incredibly foolish to approach a Jarl without being summoned", said the fur-covered blond man. "State your business".

To be quite honest with herself, she was a bit intimidated by the man, and forming a complete answer took her more time than the bear-man beside the throne deemed acceptable. He had placed a huge metal paw on the handle of his battle-axe and was ready to drive his Jarl's nuisance through the door when the Jarl spoke again.

"Do I know you?"

Nodding nervously, Luthien swallowed and began to talk.

"We met at Helgen I believe my Jarl", she said keeping her head bowed in a failed attempt to hide the bruise on her face. "I escaped with the help of one of your men, Ralof. He lives in Riverwood, about that tall" she added holding her hand about two heads above her.

"Yes, I know Ralof of Riverwood", answered the Jarl in a bored tone. "Now what do you want".

Honestly, the Ulfric was impressed with himself; he had not yet sent the tiny elf flying across the room nor beheaded her for walking unannounced in his palace. He must have skipped a part of her speech because she seemed to be waiting for his reply. Turning to Galmar he lifted an eyebrow. "She wants to find the man", answered the bear-man to his Jarl silent inquiry.

"You are wasting my time Elf. I have a country to rule, a war to win!" said the Jarl, and then turning to Galmar, "Remove her from my sight".

The older man was about to lift her bodily when she started speaking very quickly in a nearly panicked tone.

"You don't understand, please. The Greybeards want me to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller but I can't do it alone. I need Ralof".

At the mention of the old hermits, Jarl Ulfric lazily lifted a hand, interrupting Galmar's movement. "What business do you have with the Greybeards?" He had heard the rumours like everyone else, that a Dragonborn had appeared in their time of need, but the woman in front of him was an elf, an Ashborn nonetheless.

"They say I'm Dragonborn, my Jarl".

After that declaration, the Jarl and his housecarl, the bear-man known as Galmar, had been more than happy to direct her to Candlehearth Hall where Ralof was last seen. As an officer, he had a room in the palace, on the Jarl's wing, but he seemed to prefer to spend his evenings in a livelier place. The Inn reminded Luthien of Riverwood, she thought it was probably the reason her friend spent so much time there. The rude man she had shouted to submission was there, drinking and boasting about various feats of arms. His stories were interrupted when he saw her. He nearly dropped his tankard and coughed up his beverage. After that, his companions mocked him for the rest of the evening. "A punishment well deserved", thought Luthien as she scoped the room for the tall blond man.

She found him at the back of the inn on the second floor and was about to call him when a beautiful Nord woman walked to him, circling his waist with her arm, and whispered in his ear. Obviously, he liked what he heard because he smiled at her and whispered back with a grin. Luthien felt a heavy weight settle in her ribcage, yet she decided to walk toward him anyway. Obviously, the woman was a better match for a Nord man than she, a Dunmer, was. The woman was tall, beautiful, blond-haired, she looked strong and she didn't flinch every time he touched her. Maybe she wouldn't kiss him as she had hoped and she suddenly felt very foolish for ever hoping to do so. Hopefully, he would still accept to go dungeon delving with her.

"Ralof" she spoke softly, barely covering the bard's music.

He heard her the second time and, recognizing her accent, turned around with a large smile on his face.

"Luthien, my friend! What brings you to Windhelm?"

Hearing the name "Luthien" the woman who was holding Ralof looked the little elf up and down before casting a lopsided smile to the blond man, whispering once more in his ear and took her leave.

The man's expression darkened immediately when he noticed the angry, violet mark on the delicate grey face. "Who did this to you? What happened? Are you in trouble?" he blurted.

The small woman nodded a tear of exertion rolling down her injured cheek soon followed by many others as the strong Nord grabbed her in a nearly bone-crushing reassuring hug. He whispered soothing words in her ear, not caring for one moment about the comments that would most likely erupt in the room after such a public display of affection for a Dunmer.

"Here, let me get you something to eat, then we can talk in my room. Alright?" he said in a concerned tone.

"Thanks Ralof", she whispered, letting go of his armour and blue cloak so they could walk away.

After she had ingested a large bowl of meat stew and half a loaf of bread, Ralof started to ask more questions. He finally learned that his little grey friend was the new Dragonborn the whole province was talking about. Jarl Balgruuf had sent her to Bleak Falls Barrow where she had risked her life for a stone tablet only to be immediately sent to slay a dragon. She had then discovered that she was Dragonborn when the beast's carcass caught fire and shot a tingling white light through her. She had even shouted at the guards before she passed out. She had later been declared Thane of Whiterun and reached High Hrothgar, after climbing the famous 7000 steps, where she had met the Greybeards, for whom she had a lot of respect, and learned new dragon words she called Shouts. Ralof had to patiently remind her by moments that he could not understand Dunmeri dialect, which she used throughout her story when she got a bit too excited or wanted to express something she could not quite translate. She exposed her plan to take him as a companion to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller in what she described as "yet another haunted hole". They talked like this for quite some time until she could no longer keep her eyes open at which point they walked back to the keep, he tucked her in his bed and settled himself on a pile of fur beside the fire.

He woke up to scared whimpers and trashing sounds. Quite frankly, it was a miracle, he thought, that she had not yet been murdered in her sleep during her travels. Her screams probably scared small animals, but trolls and highwaymen would have been the kind to prey upon her. Sitting at her side, he rubbed her back until she calmed a bit, then, went back to sleep. Before long, he was once more woken up by a cry of dread. She was livid in the bed, eyes wide open, tears falling freely on her robes.

"Sovngarde" she kept whimpering. "I will meet Him again in Sovngarde".

As he had done in Riverwood, he held her close to him, cradled against his large chest. Rocking back and forth, he whispered soothing phrases in her ear, not completely certain she could really hear them but feeling her relaxing none the less.

A few moments later, Jarl Ulfric was barging in the room, sword drawn.

"What's that ruckus Ralof?"

"She had a nightmare my Jarl", whispered the younger Nord, caressing his friend's soft hair.

As soon as the Jarl saw who "she" was, he sheathed his weapon and softly stated, "I'll have Wuunferth brew her a sleep potion and have Jorleif prepare a room for her. The Dragonborn deserves better than an officer's bed". He said that last bit looking pointedly at Ralof who was too busy calming the young woman to see the jealousy, disgust, and envy in his leader's eyes.

Jarl Ulfric was known neither for his patience nor for his tact but for his impressive ability to get what he wanted. He had wanted to claim Markarth for the Nords and he had done so, exiling a whole people. He had wanted the throne and taken it, creating mayhem in the country on the same occasion, but he didn't really care. Now, he wanted to take Skyrim as her High King, which meant driving back the Imperial forces and getting the people's support. Unfortunately, he was not the kind of man who gave favours and hosted banquets to form new alliances; he was the kind who dictated by force.

He had begun forming a plan ever since he had heard about the Dragonborn. He needed him as an ally to rally the people. With the mythical figure in his pocket, he could easily bargain protection against dragon attacks to villages in exchange for their allegiance and fresh men for his army. He would grant the Dragonborn a high post of command in his army and any other privileges the man would deem necessary to gain his trust and arm. Unfortunately for him, the Gods seemed to play tricks with him. The Dragonborn was not who he had expected: a strong son of Skyrim used to fight and command. In fact, she was everything he despised: an elf, Ashborn none the less, weak and frail-looking, mage from the look of her robes and not even fluent in the beautiful Norse tongue. Despite his powerful hatred of the Mers, Ulfric was no fool; he knew that nothing would insure his supremacy as the Dragonborn. This was why, instead of having the frail Dunmer thrown back on the streets for annoying him that morning and barging uninvited in his palace, he had swallowed his pride and answered her questions politely. He had pondered over his plan, trying to adapt it to the new variable but it seemed nearly impossible. There was no way the woman could be named Stormcloak Officer; she probably couldn't even hold a sword, let alone command his troops.

He had begrudgingly come to the conclusion that he would need to form another kind of alliance with her. The idea repulsed him to no end, but Skyrim was worth the sacrifice. Had he had a son, the problem would have been lesser, but he had none which meant he would have to marry the Mer himself to ensure his dominance over her.

Seeing her with Ralof that night had brought even more problems to his already troubled mind. The man was a good officer, very dedicated to the cause. He wouldn't, normally, have interfered with his personal tastes, but the times were everything but normal. He would have to relocate the man to a further region, possibly near Dawnstar, to prevent him from claiming the Dragonborn as his own. He would write his marching orders in the morrow.

She woke up to the sound of metal clanking and fabric rustling. From her half-opened eyes, she could see Ralof strapping his armour. He was obviously trying to be as noiseless as possible, but a chain mail was nearly impossible to put on without noise or help.

"Good morning Ralof" said Luthien softly, her voice hoarse from sleep.

"Morning! You sleep like a bear little elf", he said joking. "It's almost noon".

"It's hard to sleep on the road… with the nightmares and everything", she answered lowering her eyes in shame. "Let me help you with that"

As always, she was very eager to help but completely ignorant of the facts. Ralof had to point her to every clasp and belt buckle for her to tie them up correctly. It ended up taking twice as much time as it would normally have taken him to get dressed but he didn't really mind. He had been postponing his departure as much as he could despite Ulfric insistence that he left at once. The man from Riverwood didn't want to leave without first saying goodbye to the lovely elf, yet he could not bring himself to wake her up; she looked so comfortable, peaceful even, rolled in the furs and linen of his bed. It was pleasant to see her smile like this; her mind free of the dragon menace and nightmares.

They were packing his backpack in a comfortable silence when he said, "Ulfric denied my request… He gave me new marching orders. I'm sorry Luthien." He felt his heart clench when her smile faded, worry lines taking its place.

"Can't you come with me first to get the Horn?" she asked pleadingly.

"I can't Luthien. They need me there urgently. The commanding officer died in an ambush a few days ago…"

"Where will you go then?"

"Dawnstar, it's about a three days march on foot from Windhelm", he told her, avoiding her eyes. "Lots of snow and ice. Very little sun".

They made their way toward the palace door in silence. Luthien had insisted on carrying the smaller travel bag, stating that she needed the exercise, until Ralof allowed her to. They were hugging when the Jarl's powerful voice rang through the hall, "Dragonborn, a word with you, please". At the summon, she begrudgingly loosened her hold on Ralof's armour, but the man simply would not relinquish his hold on her. "Promise me to be careful Luthien", he whispered in her ear. "I will", she answered him in hushed tones. "You do the same? As soon as I have the Horn I'll come to see you in Dawnstar". She was about to go and see the Jarl when Ralof grabbed her hand, bringing her close to him once more. Not relinquishing his grip, he unclasped the little amulet he wore around his neck and placed it in Luthien's delicate hand.

"It's an amulet of Talos", said the man closing her hand around it. "Gerdur gave it to me when I enlisted. It will protect you as it protected me".

"Thanks", answered the Dunmer. "Will you be safe without it?" she asked, a little nervous.

"Of course little one! I have my sword and my axe!" he replied with a large cheerful smile.

She placed a light kiss on his cheek, standing on her tiptoes to reach him, they hugged one last time and he disappeared through the heavy door.

Resigned, Luthien made her way to the Jarl's throne. The man smiled as she approached and motioned for an armoured man who had been standing in the shadows to step forward. He was smaller than Ralof and was not wearing Stormcloak armour. Instead, he had an impressive mix of furs and steel plates, like Farkas in Whiterun, strapped on him. Unlike many Nords, he had red hair and brown eyes. Ulfric introduced him as Calder. Apparently, he would be traveling with her until she deemed it safe to travel alone. She was about to take her leave and go pack her meager possessions but the Jarl insisted she stayed at least until the morrow; a banquet had been organized in her honour.

"My Jarl, I…" she said stunned. The blond man immediately interrupted her, a large smile on his face.

"We are blessed to have you amongst us Dragonborn. Allow us to express our gratitude".

"You are most kind, my Jarl", answered the young elf, bowing politely.

With Ralof out of the way and his trusted Calder to keep an eye on her, his plan was in motion.


	5. Chapter 5: Follow My Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:
> 
> Please note that this chapter contains delicate subjects such as sexual assault and as such could be triggering for some people. The targeted part is between the ---.

There really was nothing to be done, thought Ulfric. Even in the most beautiful Nordic dress money and a Jarl reputation could buy, she was still repulsive. She looked like a dirty child for Talos' sake! And those eyes… dead orbs and yet, always scrutinizing and gazing at everything. She lacked both confidence and elegance, she had no table manners what-so-ever and her knowledge of Skyrim could be resumed to "it's snowy and cold". Had she not been Dragonborn and an essential piece of his plan, she would have been rotting somewhere in the Grey Quarters with the rest of her miserable people.

Luthien could not remember ever feeling so out of place and uncomfortable. She was sitting next to Jarl Ulfric, whose eyes never seemed to leave her for more than a few minutes at a time. He was smiling at her every occasion he had: taking a sip of wine while looking at her, adjusting his fur collar, handing her the meat plate… It was making her a little nervous; she was not used to being waited upon like this. He had even pulled the chair for her. He had formally introduced her to his court and now everyone wanted to hear about the dragon in Helgen, the Shouts, the honour of being Dragonborn, her history… She stuttered and cursed herself for not being more fluent in the Norse tongue as she was forced to take pauses during the storytelling to find the right words. Sometimes, the Jarl and a few other guests would suggest appropriate terms and she would be able to continue.

She had also discovered something quite peculiar about the Norse table manners: apparently, it was perfectly acceptable for a man to use his fingers and personal dagger to engulf gigantic bites while women were expected to use the small knives and forks beside their plates to cut tiny morsels and bring them to their mouths. They were not allowed to eat loudly either. She had earned quite a few pointed looks when she grabbed a piece of rabbit with her bare hands like she had seen Galmar do. She could feel her face turning an interesting shade of purple when the Jarl had stood up to make a little speech about the humble origins of some heroic warrior twice or trice blessed effectively turning everyone's attention to his person. She had discreetly thanked him when the conversation had resumed and once again, he had given her one of his smiles and shared a little anecdote about a table misfortune of his.

Another thing that was making her incredibly self-conscious was the dress she was wearing. It had taken the help of two maids to scrub her clean, style her hair, and dress her up. It had been a terribly uncomfortable experience. First, she could not remember ever being washed by someone else. She had even tried to protest at the thoroughness of the maids but to no avail. Second, she was not used to being submerged in a gigantic bucket of water. On the Waterfront, clean water was a precious resource, so you either used a small bowl of water and a piece of cloth to wash or you stayed dirty. The neighbours would have beaten to a pulp anyone contaminating such a large amount of water! Of course, the two women had sighed and complained about the "ridiculous" length of hair they had to style. Apparently the colour was displeasing too because it did not fit with the combs and other trinkets they wished to adorn her head with.

Finally, there was the dress. Where to begin! The corset was the tightest thing she had ever been forced to wear. The brunette maid had insisted it would bring out her womanly curves. As the supper prolonged itself, she understood why the noble women had to eat such small bites so slowly; they would all have been sick otherwise! It was already a pain to breathe, but with her waist so tightly squeezed she could not digest more than a few bites every quarter-hour. The dress also had this ridiculously low neckline that had her pulling at it every once in a while to prevent it to become indecent. She had caught a few men ogling her usually inexistent cleavage and it was making her more uncomfortable each time. The only thing that she found enjoyable was the deep blue velvet fabric the dress was cut in. It reminded her of Ralof's blue cloak and it lifted her spirit every time she thought about him.

When the guests seemed to have consumed everything edible on the table, Jorleif, the Jarl's steward, had ordered the bards to change their music from ambiance melody to dancing tunes. Encouraged by the livelier rhythms, many guests who were still sober enough got up and started dancing. Luthien remain sitting, being unfamiliar with the folkloric dances, she didn't want to embarrass herself once more. Also, she wasn't sure either she could breathe enough to sustain her body during such a strenuous activity. She was wondering if maybe she could find a way to politely excuse herself when a large warm hand was placed on her bare shoulder. She nervously turned around on her chair to see who wanted her attention and was very surprised to find the Jarl standing above her.

"Would you do me the honour of dancing with me Luthien", he said in his low voice.

She noticed it was the first time he had called her by her given name and not by her title. Somehow, it made her feel a little more at ease, like she was allowed to be herself and not some revered mythical figure.

"I do not know the steps my Jarl" she answered, slightly bowing her head to hide the light violet blush blooming on her cheeks.

"It doesn't matter. You'll just have to follow my lead". Something in his tone unnerved the young woman; she felt like, somehow, that comment was meant for more than something as trivial as a few dance steps.

Luthien, trying to avoid any diplomatic incident by insulting old customs, finally nodded and stood up, burying the unease. Once more, the older man insisted on moving her chair and holding her hand to help her stand up. Once they reached the dancing area, a few surprised gasps were heard in the crowd. Some even started to chat in hushed tones to their partners until the rebel leader silenced them all with a glare. Even though the conversations went back to the way they were before the odd couple appearance, the Dunmer woman could still feel a few curious gazes on her. Her attention was quickly brought back to her partner when he brought her close to him, placing a large hand on the small of her waist and placed their joined hands on his chest, a little above his heart. Noticing her hesitation, he bowed slightly to whisper in her ear with a little lopsided grin, "Place your hand on my shoulder and follow my lead".

His mouth was so close to her ear she could feel his beard tickling the extremely sensitive skin. She tried to suppress a shudder and ended up inhaling sharply at the very intimate act. As she tried to keep a blush from appearing once more on her face, she could only mentally repeat this to herself, "he does not know, it was accidental". She was totally ignorant of the Norse culture; he was probably as lost in the Dunmer's. For the Nords, touching one's ear was probably as trivial as touching a hand or a shoulder; it had nothing to do with intimacy and arousal she thought adamantly.

After this little incident, the dance was relatively uneventful. She managed to avoid the Jarl's feet as often as possible and tried not to scream when he lifted her up for a little twirl. Even though she was completely lost in the forward, backward, and side steps, she managed to earn a few whispered compliments.

The song had ended and she was politely thanking him for the dance when he replied softly, "Call me Ulfric, there is no need for formality between us". Once more she could feel his beard and warm breath against her ear lobe, sending waves of pleasure directly to her core. She barely restrained herself from leaning her head to the side to increase the contact and had to bite back a moan before she embarrassed herself in front of all.

"If it is alright with you, I would like to retire for the night m…, Ulfric" she managed to answer while keeping her voice from wavering. "You are Dragonborn, you can do as you please Luthien", was his answer as he accompanied her to the war room leading to the bedroom wing. "Your room has been prepared and your belongings brought in it. Allow me to show you". Wishing to be done with the formality as soon as possible, Luthien acquiesced. She silently cursed herself for being so affected by his touch and his low rumbling voice, while his looks and the response his touches elicited unnerved her. He was uncomfortably charismatic she decided.

The room was the last door on the left. He opened the door for her and she found the bed-chamber was surprisingly warm compared to the rest of the palace. A large fire was burning in the chimney while two cast iron braziers glowed embers beside the bed instead of bedside tables. She smiled and allowed a little sigh of pleasure to pass through her lips. "I thought you would enjoy a little more heat than the rest of us", he told her, noticing her reaction. "Thank you very much for everything and good night Ulfric", she answered him, hoping to politely drive him out of her room. It was unfortunately ineffective as he went on in hushed tones, placing both hands on her waist from behind, "My room is at the end of the corridor, the first door on your left, should you need anything". He was so close. She could feel the heat emanating from his tall body through her thick velvet dress. He took a tiny step closer, his chest brushing against her back and whispered once more in her ear, his cheek touching her hair, "Good night Luthien". She barely made out the words through the powerful wave of arousal that washed upon her. She could feel his slightly dry lips grazing the delicate cartilage, the heat building in her core, and suddenly nothing. He had left as quickly and noiselessly as the wind, leaving her slightly trembling. His constant touches and whispered words were making her more and more uncomfortable. Had it been Ralof, she thought, blushing, she would have welcomed the intimacy but with the Jarl it wasn't the same.

He must have called the maids on his departure, because a few moments after his disappearance, the two women were busying themselves unlacing the corset and removing the dress. They went as far as slipping a light wool nightgown on the lithe grey body in front of them and left silently, leaving the elf alone.

Despite the evening's events, she was very quickly asleep in the warm and cozy bed, and as it had been the case since Riverwood, her last thoughts were for her blond saviour, camping somewhere in the snow between Windhelm and Dawnstar.

In the snow up to his knees, Ralof was cursing every Gods he knew. Despite the bone freezing temperature he had managed to step on thin ice and given his weight, he had found himself ankle-deep in what felt like frozen fire. His fur boots were crusted in ice and he could not feel his toes anymore despite the Norse blood flowing in his veins. Unless he wanted to end up frozen to death like a milk-drinking Imperial, he would have to set up camp earlier than anticipated. As he resigned to his fate and began setting his weatherproof tent, the newly appointed Officer was trying to make sense of his new orders. Dawnstar was not a particularly unstable city. There were a few reported bandit and vampire attacks but it was noting a detachment of soldiers and a few guards couldn't handle without a leading Officer; it did not require advance tactical knowledge or diplomacy both of which he did not possess either way. Why was Ulfric so impatient to see his garrison meet its new leader? Was there a threat he was not aware of, a situation he would need to defuse as soon as he arrived?

More than anything, he didn't like leaving Luthien again after they had just been reunited. She had traveled across nearly half of Skyrim to seek his help and he had to disappoint her and leave. Never before had he felt torn between his duty to Skyrim and a woman; his country had always come first. It didn't help that he had heard horror stories about how Dunmers were treated in Windhelm and he couldn't imagine the frail-looking little elf being able to hold herself in a fight against angry, drunk Nords again. His heart had felt torn when he had seen the bruise on her face. She obviously tried to hide the wound but the sight of her swollen flesh had made his blood boil. He had seen the Grey Quarters like everyone else; quickly, out of necessity, while trying to ignore the inequity and unhealthiness of the place. To be completely honest with himself, he had never felt particularly good about the Quarters, but before meeting Luthien, he had not given much thought to the matter either. That little woman, with her innocent face and adorable smile, was confronting him to a reality he had been blissfully unaware of, and somehow he was not resentful about it.

Tucked in the cold yet miraculously dry fur bedroll he took a few moments to remember the little warm grey body he had held against him last night; how right she had felt in his arms.

It was the Thu'um that woke him. It was quite early from the dim moonlight bathing the stone floor of his room. Even though he could not understand the meaning of the words, he could feel from the voice of the speaker that it was likely of bad omen. Deciding to get out of bed to investigate, he stepped in the corridor leading out of his room. He could hear choked sobs through the Dragonborn's heavy oak bedroom door. Had she not been taking the sleeping potion from Wuulferd? Really, that little viper was proving to be nearly too much trouble to be worth it, thought the Jarl as he pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted him was pathetic! The detestable little girl was trashing in the bed, her legs bound by the twisted furs and linens. Her angular face was frozen in anguish, tears cowardly flowing from her tightly closed eyes. She was mumbling gibberish, most likely begging for the nightmare to end. How could the Gods have been so cruel as to select such a weakling to carry their blessing? As soon as the war was over, he would find a way to get rid of her. Tired of her mumbling and tears, he brusquely shook her awake.

It all happened so quickly, he felt his body being thrown through the room before he registered her words. It took all of his resolve not to shout back at her as he landed unceremoniously on the hard stone floor. Void, her Voice was strong! Trying to overcome the shame of being flown through the room by such a frail-looking elf, Ulfric heard more than he saw Calder and Galmar make eruption in the room, sword in hand, sleeping gowns and hair still ruffled from sleep. Needless to say, they were more than surprised to see their proud leader picking himself up off the floor under the wet and contrite look of the young Dragonborn. Mindful of their leader's pride, they feigned not seeing the blond man proudly wrapping his fur coat, as if nothing had happened.

"Forgive me my Jarl, I..." began Luthien, eyes wide open in fear.

"Hush, there is nothing to forgive Dragonborn" said Ulfric, teeth clenched. "She must have mistaken me for an assailant", he added, turning toward his men. "Go back to your quarters. The Dragonborn and I need to talk".

Galmar was about to retort, but a dark glare from his Jarl told him it was neither the time nor place.

As soon as the two men were gone, the blond Nord made his way toward the nearly trembling Dunmer, stopping as his knees touched the bed. She looked positively terrified and he could not tell which part was from the nightmare and which part was due to her Shouting at him. Somehow, seeing her trembling before him filled him with an unhealthy sense of pride. He, soon to be High King of Skyrim, was making the Dragonborn tremble. For a brief moment, he chose to forget that she was a very young woman, probably a third of his weight, and took a few seconds to bask in his new-found glory. Minutely coming back to his senses, he swallowed his grin and sat down beside the elf without invitation. He felt her tense beside him and scoot away discreetly. Deciding he would have none of that, he slipped a strong arm around her rib cage and brought her back to him. "It's over now Luthien. I'm here, you are safe", he said lamely, patting her shoulder.

She could only remember feeling this uncomfortable once in her short life.

\---

The captain was looking angrily at her. "So I hear we have a clandestine passenger", he had told her, a wolfish grin on his face. She had been brought to him a little earlier that day by the sailor who had found her asleep in a wooden crate. Had she known the trip would be that long she would have hidden a little better or she would have gotten on board as a midshipman or a cook of some sort. Her carelessness and will to flee Cyrodiil no matter the consequences had brought her nothing but troubles. She wanted to move away but found she could not. The captain had her cornered in his quarters, his large frame blocking the exit. He had a look in his eyes she had never seen any man giving her before. His pupils were nearly swallowing the whole of his eyes; his chapped lips partly opened allowing his alcohol-filled breath to reach her. She felt his callous hands grabbing her, bringing her close to his nearly feverish body. "It's bad for business to shag one's crewmate. Fortunately for me, you are not part of my crew!" he had told her rubbing his groin against hers.

Feeling a tell-tale hardness press against her had slapped her out of her inaction. She had pushed him with all her strength, barely forcing him to move a muscle to resist her. She had screamed at him to let her go, she had punched and slapped his heavy chest and prominent belly but to no avail. Grabbing her by her short white hair, he had dragged her to the rear door of his cabin. Still holding her in this painful way, he had brought her on the verge of falling overboard. Seeing the waves, the bottomless abyss below her, she had stopped struggling from fear of drowning. He had spoken again, in a terribly cold and mean voice. "You have two choices. Either you do as I say or I throw you to the sea, miserable little whore". Seeing that she was not about to answer him, her eyes showing her terror at the sight of the waves, he asked. "Do you want to drown girl?" She shook her head frenetically, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Not waiting for a further answer, he bodily threw her inside his cabin through the open door. Slamming it as he entered, he made his way to her prone and sobbing form. Through her terror induced haze, she could hear metal clicking against leather as he undid his belt buckle. She heard fabric rustling as he lowered his breeches, then his ice-cold voice rang in the room like a death sentence.

"Kneel"

\---

She was motionless as a wax statue in the Jarl's arms. His hold felt to her like chains, his body heat slowly transferring to hers was a flame burning her, his dry lips placing a very clumsy chaste kiss on the top of her head a knife in her gut. Hopefully, he had the decency not to touch her delicate pointy ears or she would have Shouted at him once more, consciously this time. He held her for a few minutes more that seemed to last forever, rubbing what she thought could have been soothing circles in her back had they been performed by Ralof. Coming from the Jarl, it left her feeling soiled, violated, especially in the fragile state of mind she was in after witnessing once more Alduin's wrath. Needless to say, she bolted out of the room as soon as he loosened his grip on her, pretexting the cold air would do her some good. She was in such a hurry she realized outside the Palace, the icy wind blowing snowflakes on her barely covered skin, that she had forgotten her cape inside and that she was now standing, barefoot, in a light sleeping gown at the mercy of the elements. Clutching in her rapidly cooling little grey hand Ralof's amulet, she wished to all the deity she could think of, Aedra and Deadra alike to allow her to see him again soon.


	6. Chapter 6: Dawnstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit

Luthien did not go back to sleep that night. She remained in the throne room for a long time before going back to her room. She feared the Jarl would still be there, sitting on her bed, trying to wrap his arms around her, caressing her ears against her will. Simply thinking of him made her shudder. After her trip to Skyrim, after the captain, she had always been afraid of a man's touch. She had been scared of Ralof too, but he had proven her wrong. Always respectful and kind, he had melted a door in her defenses. The Jarl, on the other hand, had barged in with his unwanted touches, unnerving smiles, and hard looks. She had a very bad feeling about the man, but she could not quite place her finger on it.

When she finally went back to her room, she tiptoed, as if the massive stone floor could creak and betray her presence. Holding her breath, she placed an ear to the door. Hearing no sign of the Jarl's presence, she gently and noiselessly lifted the latch and slightly pushed the door open. Flattening herself on the wall, she slipped in the warm chamber like water through rocks. Closing the door behind her without even a creak, she rested her back on the heavy oak for an instant, allowing her heartbeat to slow down. A little smile appeared on her lips as she placed her hand on her chest; she used to feel that same thrill when she went on jobs for the Hooded man on the Waterfront. Clearly, it was time to leave.

Her knapsack strapped on her back, her cloak tightly wrapped around her small body, she was standing in front of Calder's room. She stood there for a few minutes, deliberating about knocking or leaving without him. She could not imagine delving in yet another bandit and corpse infested cave alone, but neither could she imagine being under the constant watch of the Jarl's henchman. Clutching Ralof's amulet in her hand, she made her way to the palace door, alone. Skyrim's cold wind and nigh eternal snow greeted her. In the moonlight, she could see guards patrolling, but the city was otherwise deserted. With a determined exhale, she covered her head and face with the heavy fur hood and left Windhelm behind her.

Ralof finally arrived in Dawnstar a little past noon. He had not yet made his way to the Jarl's Longhouse that he heard a terrible roar echoing through the mountains. He saw the guards running toward the forge, bows in hand, looking up. He had just lowered his backpack to the ground when he saw a large grey dragon diving from the mountaintop. It landed on the snow-covered rooftop, flapping his powerful wings and lifting white clouds of delicate snowflakes. The newly appointed Officer, remembering his position, unsheathed his sword and ran toward the terrified guards. "Archers, ready your bows. Aim for the wings!"

Just as the first volley was about to be released, the dragon roared and a blizzard shot out of his large maw, forcing a few guards to their knees. "Archers, fire!" shouted the blond man feeling completely inadequate with his sword, his bow being neatly packed in his bag. The tight scales mostly deflected the arrows but a few found their target in the translucent cartilage of the wings. More annoyed than hurt, the dragon lifted itself from the roof with a few waves of his majestic wings, the characteristic low vibration echoing through the city. It dived once more, bathing the guards and their new Officer in ice shards. Ralof heard a scream through the ice storm and once it was over he noticed they were one guard short. Grabbing the missing man's bow, he snatched three arrows in the nearest guard's quiver and tried to aim at the beast. It was proving to be quite the challenge. The monster kept circling over their heads, changing altitude every once in a while making it incredibly hard to lock on the target. As soon as the ice-breathing monster perched itself once more on the roofs, Ralof aimed and fire at what he thought would be a soft spot just below the beast's clavicle. The arrow had just left the bow when the dragon lowered its head to release frozen hell on the warriors. Talos must have been watching the battle, thought Ralof, as his arrow embedded itself in the monster's pitch-black eye, effectively stopping the frost breath. Angered and wounded, the dragon took flight once more, grabbing another guard in his claws before fleeing the city with one last roar.

"What a first day", mumbled Ralof as he made his way toward his garrison.

Ralof had been occupying his new post for a little more than three days and had to deal with three attacks from the newly named One-Eyed-Menace. It seemed the dragon considered Dawnstar as its personal buffet. It had all began a few days after Helgen. It would come from the mountain, breathing ice, and it would pick one or two bystanders a day. His coming and going were pretty random; it could strike in the morning as well as in the dead of night, snatching beggars, guards and merchants alike. Ralof had learned that his predecessor had vanished in such an attack. There had been no remains for the families to bury. Needless to say, the people were desperate. There were no children running in the streets, no workers by the forge, no traveling merchants settling their tents outside the city; in a matter of days, it had become a shell of its former self. The only regular people walking around were the guards, making rounds, and passing rations to the barricaded citizens.

This is how Luthien found the city when she arrived that morning. Ustengrav was about six hours on foot from there, so she had seized the opportunity to make a surprise visit to her dear friend and saviour. Seeing the familiar blue draped silhouette ahead, the little Dunmer waved enthusiastically and called his name, a large radiant smile on her face.

Upon hearing his name, the man ran to her. She was a little surprised to see panic written all over is face as he came closer. As soon as he was standing in front of her, he grasped her shoulder and looked her up nervously, searching for injuries.

"What are you doing here Luthien?" he nearly screamed at her.

"I'm going to Ustengrav, it's close from here, so I thought..." she began before he interrupted her.

"Well, you thought wrong! You need to leave at once. Has no one told you a dragon has been attacking this city?"

At the mention of dragon, he could see the colour draining from her face.

"Alduin?" she said in a little tensed voice.

"The one from Helgen? No, it's a smaller one, grey, which breathes ice. We managed to wound it, but it comes back every day to feed." He added, looking at the sky every once in a while. "You need to leave before it come back, Luthien".

She looked toward the mountain suddenly, inhaling deeply before replying.

"Whether I wish it or not, I'm Dragonborn, Ralof. I have to fight him". Her gaze locked with his as she faced him once more. "He is close. I can feel him. Get ready!"

Ralof was about to retort when he heard a roar and felt the low vibrations associated with the beast flapping his wings. Running toward the city, he ordered his men to take cover and ready their bows. He could hear the little elf following him closely, flames crackling in her palms. "Ignite your arrows", she said to the men extending her flaming palm. This time, when the dragon passed over the roofs, it was greeted with fiery arrows. The beast roared fiercely when they pierced his wings, burning the flesh and some even piercing the scales.

"Dovahkiin", roared the beast as it landed on the Jarl's roof.

"You are not welcome here Dragon", said the Dunmer, walking in plain sight, avoiding Ralof's hand as he tried to hide her inside a house.

"I decide where I am welcome Dovahkiin" answered the dragon. "I answer to Alduin alone".

To everyone present, this exchange sounded like roars, stones clashing against stones and old forgotten language mixed together, but to Luthien it was clear as Dunmeri. She was not even aware she was speaking another language; it came naturally to her as it did in her nightmares ever since she had absorbed the first dragon's soul.

Seeing the beast getting ready to blow frost on the little elf, Ralof plunged and tackled her to the ground, effectively shielding her from the icy blast with his own body. Seeing their Officer in distress, the guards fired once more at the dragon, igniting their arrows with torches. While the dragon howled in pain, Ralof lifted himself from the ground, releasing the Dunmer. He was about to yell at her for her careless attitude when he saw her expression change from annoyed and determined to afraid and furious. He barely had time to turn around and see the enormous jaws coming toward him that he felt pulled back and landed sitting in the snow. Stepping between the dragon's jaw and him was his little Dunmer friend. Yet, she was nearly unrecognizable. He could hear her growl deeply inside her ribcage, her little frame shaking with uncontrolled anger. When she spoke, her voice was seemingly not her own; deeper and stronger than he had ever thought possible.

"FUS RO", she shouted at the dragon's face.

As the dragon slightly stepped back, shaken by the Shout, she said something in Dunmeri and was, instantly, covered in a blazing inferno. Little flames were dancing around her, melting the snow which evaporated in a white mist where she stood. What happened next would likely be sung by bards and carved in stone for it was truly a vision of legend. The little woman started running toward the scaled predator, gaining speed with every step until she reached the side of its head. Then, using her momentum, she grabbed a long tusk-like horn on the dragon's upper mandible and swung herself on top of its spiky head and straddled its narrowest part at the nape of the neck. It had all happened so fast, the One-Eyed-Menace had not been quick enough to avoid the Dragonborn. She could feel the scales melt and crack beneath her burning body. The Dragon roared in agony, shaking his majestic head from left to right in a desperate attempt to be rid of the searing pain.

The Dunmer Dragonborn had hooked her feet around horns and wrapped her legs tightly on each side of the large neck and was not about to let go. Afraid they would hit the elf, the guards had lowered their bows and were, for the most part, looking in awe as the woman held-on to the spiky head despite the dragon's attempts to dislodge her. They could see the viscous deep red blood of the creature boil as it came in contact with the flames until they flickered and died. Conjuring the fire in her palms, Luthien let a long burst of scalding heat wash upon the spiky face until the beast howled one last time and crashed to the ground. Fortunately, the defeated monster did not fall to the side, or its slayer would have had her legs crushed having not had the time to jump before its fall. Once the dragon's flesh began combusting, Luthien allowed herself to slip to the snowy ground, exhausted. She braced herself for the reception of the soul but found herself slipping in unconsciousness before it could happen.

He could barely believe his eyes. The dragon that had paralyzed the city of Dawnstar for days was dead. It was more than dead actually, its very soul had been destroyed, absorbed by the Dragonborn. He stood for a moment, witnessing the combustion of the scaled corpse until he was brought back to his senses by the sound of Luthien slipping from the beast's cremated neck. She looked weak and it scared him instantly. He was kneeling beside her in a second, cradling her frail body in his strong arms.

"Luthien?", he called with a wavering voice. "Luthien!", he called again a little louder.

He could see her chest slowly lifting up and down with her breathing, so he knew she was still alive, but it was not enough to appease him. She was still unconscious when a blinding light shot out of the dragon's combusting carcass and entered her body. He heard her gasp and saw her eyes opened for a brief moment before the light disappeared.

She came back to her senses when he lowered her on his bed in the guard's barrack. He was wrapping the thick wool blanket around her small frame when he felt her hand clasping his. Her eyes were barely opened and she looked exhausted.

"Sleep Luthien, I'll be right back", he whispered to her.

He was about to turn and leave to get some healing and stamina potions when he felt her grip tighten on his hand. It was not much, she was barely applying enough force to hold a quill, but he understood and sat next to her on the bed.

Jorvak was a true Nord. He was quite proud of it too. He was nearly born with a sword in his hand and was now, like his father before him, protecting Skyrim to the best of his ability. Like every little Nord, he had been taught the legend of the Dragonborn. The mythical warrior was always depicted as a tall, strong, blond man, able to best his opponents with a few swings of his dual broad swords and the strength of his Voice. He would be dressed in iron with the horn of his fallen enemies adorning his helmet. He would be everything Jorvak was with a touch of divine, but it seemed the Gods had been played. A filthy Elf, Ashborn no less, had magicked the power out of its rightful owner! He had seen how weak she was, how she was clearly not meant to carry the blessing she had stolen. Luckily, their new Officer had kept his head and was probably already questioning her with the help of the court wizard and alchemist. He, as many Nord, was reticent to use magic or be close to anything remotely magical, but he had to admit, it was practical, if cowardly, to use against enemies.

After the dragon had been slain, the remaining guards had had to deal with the overly joyous citizen. They had been hesitant, at first, to get out of their houses to look upon the massive skeleton of their defeated enemy, but they had soon forgotten the fear and were now clogging the streets and sharing stories about the battle they had not seen. Jorvak and his fellow guards had encouraged the people to remain inside while they made sure the place was safe, to no avail; the citizens were out of control and already planning to celebrate the famous Dragonborn. Annoyed with their stories and agitation, the tall guard made his way toward the barracks. There was no real prison in Dawnstar, but he was sure his Officer had carried the imposter in a secure room for interrogation. As soon as he entered the wooden building a wave of fear hit him. He could hear no scream, no barked questions, no broken voice spitting answer. He was too late; the interrogation was over.

He was about to search for the Officer when he was met with a revolting sight. The blond man who led them was in bed with the usurper! Gods be praised, they were still clothed! The little witch was sleeping peacefully, wrapped in the blanket while the Officer slept, his chest pressed against her back, over the covers with his arms around her. The disgusted guard was slowly backing away from the bed when a floorboard creaked, instantly waking his Officer.

Ralof was still a little hazy from the short nap, but the disgusted expression on his man's face was easily recognizable. He hastily stood beside the bed with a slightly guilty look on his face. To say elves ever badly seen in Skyrim as a euphemism. Most Nords considered them like traitors, lepers, and to associate with one of them was frowned upon especially in smaller cities or villages. They were tolerated in the big cities because they were often proficient merchants or good enchanters and because the guards punished violence. Some were even accepted in mercenary groups, but there was one place they were absolutely banned from, a True Nord's bed.

"It's not what you think…", began the blond man, attempting to defuse the situation. "I'm not…".

"Not an Elf lover? Is that it?", screamed the guard. "That's exactly what you are Officer", finished the man with hatred.

Without casting another look at his superior, he exited the barrack.

When she woke up, it was already nighttime. She could see many guards were already sleeping in their cot, but she could not see Ralof. She was a bit ashamed to notice the blood on the blankets; her dirty armour had not been removed prior to her being wrapped in the warm fabric.

The barrack was composed of four main rooms. The dining area was the first from the entry door. Then came the bedroom, a training room and the latrines. Tiptoeing toward the light in the barrack, she finally found Ralof sitting alone at the long dining table, nursing a pint of mead. He was obviously lost in his thoughts for he did not hear her approach and jumped slightly when she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Can I sit with you", she asked softly to avoid disturbing the sleepers.

The tall man seemed to think about it then nodded. They stayed sitting next to each other for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say. It had been an eventful day.

"Would you like a drink", asked the blond man equally softly.

When she nodded, he lifted himself up and went to serve her a pint of mead. She had never really drunk alcohol, but she still accepted the drink when he placed it in front of her.

"To the Dragonborn", he said forlornly, taking a large gulp while sitting down beside her.

She took a tiny sip out of the huge tankard and, grimacing, pushed it a little away from her. Beside her, she could hear Ralof chuckling. When she looked at him with a small contrite smile he added "Milk-drinker" and chuckled some more before going back to his previous pensive mood.

After a few more minutes in silence, she asked, "Is it really that bad to be an Elf lover?".

"Oh...", he answered almost ashamed, "You heard".

Yes, she had heard and it had crushed her heart. She had known since Windhelm that she was not meant to be with him but she had still entertained the hope that maybe… But to hear him say it, that he was not an "Elf lover", was almost physically painful.

"It's not bad", he said startling her. "It's just that, we are… Some of us are pretty narrow-minded. The White Gold Concordat was very hard to swallow; we Nords have worshiped Talos for centuries. It's part of our culture!", he stopped to take a swing at his tankard. "The High Elves have taken that culture and spat on it!", he sighed. "It's very hard, for some, to see past 'Elves are against Talos, Talos was a Nord thus Elves are against Nords'".

He had said all that keeping his eyes riveted to his tankard and she could see the tension in his shoulders.

"What about you?", she asked in a nearly choked voice, "Can you see past it".

"Luthien", he breathed, "Of course! And that's the problem", he finished; looking in her eyes desperately as if his look could convey a message his voice could not.

"How is it a problem?", asked the little grey woman.

He sighed once more, emptying his tankard before answering.

"I was like him, you know, Jorvak, before I met you. Stupid and narrow-minded. My men would lose their respect for me. It's the best way to end up dead in battle. I can't have that", he finished, contrite.

"Then I'm sorry to have caused you trouble", whispered Luthien standing up and walking toward the door that led outside, tears forming in her moon-coloured eyes.

She had her hand on the door handle when she felt him grip her arms, turn her around and flatten her against the heavy wood. His face was inches away from her and she could smell the mead on his breath, his chest nearly pressing against her own; she felt trapped, helpless.

"That's not what I meant", he said his eyes shinning with repressed tears.

His grip lessened and he took a quarter step back, bringing his hand to her face, lightly caressing her cheek with his fingertips. She was scared and he knew it, he could see it in her tensed stance, her wide-open eyes, and her slightly faster breathing pattern, but he had to finish. She would run away, most likely never come back, and his life would go on as before: elf less, simpler.

"Ever since I joined the Stormcloaks I've always thought Elves meant trouble. Especially magic ones. I don't want to be shunned by my brothers-in-arms for associating with one. I don't want them to look the other way when I will need help on the battlefield". Seeing she was not about to say anything he continued.

"I'm scared", he said clenching his jaw. "Scared of what it might mean, scared of myself, scared of what the other will think…". Despite his best efforts, tears found their way to his cheeks, disappearing in his short blond beard. "And despite all that, Talos help me, I love you Luthien", he finished.

Her little grey face has streaked with tears; tears of fear, of pain but mostly of joy. Grabbing his blond head with both hands, she stood on tiptoes and harshly pressed her lips against his. It could hardly be called a kiss, more like a punch but with lips instead of fist. If he was shocked by her reaction, it was not for long. His lips were instantly moving fiercely with hers. They could not get enough of each other like starved people presented with a banquet. Her hands were gripping the nape of his neck, fisting in his long blond locks, while his wrapped around her thighs lifting her from the ground. His hungry lips muffled her surprised squeal as he slightly pushed his tongue past her teeth. He pressed his large chest against hers, backing her to the wooden door once more, effectively pinning her in place. As she wrapped her legs around his waist she heard him moan deep in the kiss. Encouraged, she shifted, rocking lightly against a rather large bulge beneath the leather breeches, chainmail, and blue drape. She heard him moan once more as he bit his lips to muffle the sound.

She shivered, as his lips left her mouth to attack the side of her neck. Her breathing was quick and shallow in anticipation. It was so unlike Jarl Ulfric's touch; she craved Ralof's. When after what felt to her like hours of soft agony his lips closed around her earlobe, she nearly screamed. Despite expecting his touch, she could not muffle the high-pitched wavering moan that snuck out of her throat. Expecting her reaction, Ralof had preemptively brought his callous hand to her mouth, which prevented them from startling the whole Dawnstar garrison awake.

"How I wish we were back in Windhelm right now", he whispered in her ear, his voice husky with arousal.

She could feel his close-cropped beard trickling the highly sensitive cartilage, sending waves of pleasure to her core.

"Why", she answered breathlessly.

"Privacy would be bliss", he added, lightly licking her ear from the lobe to the pointy tip.

Despite her completely white eyes, he was almost sure hers rolled back in ecstasy. It was almost unfair how easy it was for him to make her moan underneath his touch. Almost. For someone as shy as she had been, he had to admit she was doing a wonderful job at making his pants more and more uncomfortable. She had untied the blue cloak from around him and was about to attack the chain mail clasp at the nape of his neck when he stopped her.

"We can't", he panted. "It's too noisy to take off".

She protested by moaning and rubbing her groin against his hardness once more.

"Give me a minute, I'll be right back", he panted.

She unhooked her legs from her waist and he tiptoed to his bunk to take off the offending piece of armour. It was a familiar noise around a guard barrack and despite it not being silent, it did nothing but make a few men turn in their beds. After the long sleepless night due to the dragon attack, it was understandable thought Ralof relieved.

When he stepped back in the dining area, he was wearing nothing but a tread bare white shirt, his leather breaches and his boots. Luthien had removed everything but the inner layer of her mage robes. The fabric was so light he could see her perky nipples sticking out. Licking his lower lip, he stepped toward her. When he wrapped his strong arms around her, it was not urgent as before, it was not threatening; he brought her to his warm chest and lifted her chin. Their lips met in a soft kiss and for a moment there was only them, now, until Ralof rubbed his thumb across her ear. She was instantly wrapped around him like before. She was so light and clung so tightly to him he managed to untie his breeches while backing her up the wall. His engorged member sprung free and he heard her gasp as the burning hot flesh made contact with her wet folds. He teased her ear one more time while lifting her light tunic and brushed his middle finger against the little bud of nerves between her legs. She literally mewled, muffling the sound in his muscled shoulder as her blunt nails racked his back. All he wanted to do at that point was delve inside her warm, small, grey body and loose himself in the ecstasy, but he was nearly painfully aware that he was most likely larger than the average elf; he was larger than the average Nord. Bringing his hand to her mouth he breathed, "Open your mouth". He saw a very brief flash of fear cross her face then she parted her lips. She had obviously no idea about what to do, but with a bit of coaxing, he managed to have her coating his finger in a generous amount of saliva. As he slipped a finger inside her terribly tight channel, she heard her protest.

"No, I want… you. Not… your… fingers!", she managed to say breathlessly.

"You will, but I don't want to hurt you little elf", he answered almost silently against her ear.

He could see the surprise on her face, her eyes becoming wet as she smiled softly. She shivered when he pushed a second finger in and started rubbing a spot she never even knew existed inside of her. He felt the fabric of his shirt rip as she clawed at his back desperately trying to remain silent through his ministrations. When he added a third and final finger he felt her tense and clamp repetitively against the intruding appendages. Her eyes were tightly closed and her mouth was open in a silent "o" of pleasure. He very nearly came just like that, looking at her becoming undone because of him. When he relaxed once more, he pulled the fingers out of her and rubbed his length a few times to coat it in her fluids.

"It might hurt a bit, 'm sorry", he mumbled breathlessly against her ear.

Unable to do more, she simply nodded and crushed her lips against his. It did hurt a bit as he pushed himself inside her. "Azura", she thought, "how can he walk with such a thing between his legs". It burned, but it was so good at the same time. When he started to move she felt as if the word had shattered and they were left alone, floating in the Void. She could hear nothing but his ragged breath and muffled groans, and feel nothing but his touch both in and out of her. His grip was bruising her skin but she did not care, she could not; there was only pleasure and Ralof. They became one and the same as she peaked for the second time that night. Suddenly, his thrusts became erratic and she felt him shudder inside of her as he spilled his pearly white seed. Once their breathing calmed and their limbs stopped trembling they both cast a scared look at the bedroom area. The garrison was still asleep. Thanking respectively Talos and Azura, Ralof and Luthien disentangled. The little elf nearly collapsed as she tried to retrieve her clothes from a nearby chair. Chuckling deeply with a proud lopsided grin, the tall Officer lifted her in his arms and carried her bridal style to his bed.

"Good night", he whispered against her ear, making sure his lips grazed the highly sensitive skin. He walked away to retrieve her clothes, chuckling some more as he heard her breath catch in her throat.

He was folding her robes at the foot of his bed when he heard her whisper to him.

"Your men, they don't have to know… about this. They cannot know", she pleaded him.

"It wouldn't exactly be fair to you if I hid you like a shameful secret", he answered in a very low tone. "I love you, you are not a back-alley drunk fling, there is no…". He was silenced by a little black finger on his lips.

"I don't want you killed in battle because your men lost their respect for you. I will gladly be your shameful secret if it means we can be together." She then whispered something that sounded like a spell, which he could not understand. "It means 'I love you' in Dunmeri", she said, smiling at his confused face.

When she left the next morning, Luthien could feel a dull throbbing deep inside her. Smiling sadly, she remembered her goodbye with Ralof. It had been terribly clipped, short and distant as the guards were now awake and eyeing her suspiciously. She could also feel the people looking at her in a new light. Some, especially the children, looked at her in awe; a little Redguard boy had given her a pastry and a young girl had insisted on giving her a hug despite her mother's protests. Some others, like the woman in question, had looked at her with disdain; the mother had even made a comment about ash soiling her daughter's dress. She was unfortunately used to such comments. Living on the Waterfront of the Imperial City was, rightfully, associated with people of little means, often refugees, beggars or thieves. It was not uncommon for children and sometimes drunk noblemen from the Imperial City to come down from their cozy houses and clean streets to insult and seek trouble with the "Waterfront Rats" as they liked to call them. Luthien was a bit surprised to receive such unkind comments after saving the city from a Dragon, but she bit her tongue and kept walking toward Ustengrav remembering her talk with Ralof and Nord's simplistic views on elves. She patted her pocket discreetly making sure her precious package was still secured. The little inkwell, quill, and parchments were still where Ralof had placed them discreetly in the morning she noticed, smiling. He had told her to write to him when she could, as he would do the same.

She only had a little problem… she could hardly spell her name, especially in Norse.


	7. Chapter 7: Morning Star in Riverwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit

"Officer Ralof, you have a letter from your sister", hollered a guard as he navigated through the crowded dining area of the Dawnstar's guard's barrack.

Taking the offered letter, the tall blond man thanked his subordinate and resumed his meal. Gerdur was probably asking for news like she always did when he was away. Maybe she would ask him to come back to Riverwood to celebrate the coming of Morning Star. He decided it could wait. His day had been terrible and he was more in need of a hot meal than a letter at the moment, even if he cared a great deal for his sister. He was also in a sour mood because Luthien had not written to him, not even once, since her departure at the end of Sun's Dusk. Two whole months of waiting and still nothing. He had thought about writing to her, but he had no idea where she was and if a courier would be able to reach her. So, he had to remind himself that had the Dragonborn died, the news would have been traveling around faster than fire on a troll's fur. He had to remind himself that she was probably still alive, which, of course, led him to fear she was somehow angry with him. After all, she would have every reason to be; after insulting her race, he had had his way with her against the rough wall of the barrack as if she had been a common wench. After which, he had sent her on her way without even a stolen kiss for he was afraid of what others might think, and finally, he had kept secret his affection for her. Still, a little voice in his head kept whispering she had been the one who agreed on hiding their relationship. The letter was thus forgotten until the soldier retired for the night.

The light in the bedroom was dim and his eyes were treacherously closing against his will, but Ralof cracked the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. Before reading the words, the blond man noticed the handwriting was unfamiliar. It was slightly slanted, clean, and precise, unlike Gerdur's large cursive letters. Curious, he began to read.

Dear Ralof,

I hope you can forgive me for the delay. When we parted in Dawnstar I promised to write to you as soon as I had a moment. Unfortunately, I had very little spare time between dungeon-delving after an old horn, meeting new allies, and studying with the Greybeards. I also forgot to tell you that, though I can now speak almost properly in Norse tongue, I cannot write...

"Luthien", breathed the man, a large smile appearing on his tired face. He could not suppress a little chuckle at the idea of his little Elf stuck between her promise to write back and her inability to do so. She had probably found someone to write it down for her, he thought, the shadow of fear creeping in his mind.

Do not worry about the scribe of this letter finding out about us, he is in a similar situation. Anyhow, enough with the boring details. Here is what I have been up to since I left you nearly two months ago.

His fears under control, he continued his reading. As he read the words, he could almost hear her speak and it made him happy. Despite her being far away, he felt like he had a little part of her with him.

When I arrived in Ustengrav, I was quite surprised to see the opponents I feared fight against each other and eliminate themselves without my intervention. In fact, most of the fighting had occurred before I arrived and I was able to reach the horn without too much trouble. There was one small complication actually, "a friend" had already taken the horn, so I crawled out of that old, corpse, and necromancer infested tomb and made my way to Riverwood. Your town is full of surprises let me tell you! Though I trust you with my life, I cannot tell you more about this subject in this letter, it could, after all, fall in the wrong hands and cause a lot of problems for very precious allies. My friend and I then traveled to Kynesgrove where we fought a dragon together; I wish you had been there. Alduin was there; he spoke above the Dragon's tomb and raised him from his sleep. I do not know why, but Alduin did not bother to attack us. After raising the terrible beast, he flew away and left us to deal with him. My friend is a very good fighter: she is fearless. I'm sure you would like her.

After that fight, after I absorbed the Dragon's soul, she trusted me completely and recognized me as Dragonborn. I went to retrieve a friend of her and we traveled to an old temple lost in the mountains. I am truly sorry for all the secrecy, but their strength is too weak, and should the Thalmor find out about them, I would never forgive myself. When we meet again, I promise I will tell you everything. If you wish, I could take you to this place. It is truly impressive and there are some beautiful stone carvings.

After, I climbed the Throat of the World to bring the horn to the Greybeards. They were quite glad to retrieve it I believe. They taught me new Shouts, as they call them and they initiated me to the Way of the Voice. They said my "thum" (the word is unknown to me, but she insists on its existence –Faendal-) is powerful and I hope it will be enough to stop Alduin. Master Arngeir is so knowledgeable! He is the only Greybeard to speak to me. Actually, Borri greeted me the morning before I left High Hrothgar and the walls shook! Can you believe it? I thought the stones were going to fall to on my head. I have not tried to hold a conversation with them since...

Also, I learned from the most reliable sources that there is a way to defeat Alduin! My friend's friend deciphered some old documents and there is now hope. There is also someone you need to meet! He is the wisest person in all of Tamriel! I really cannot say anymore on this letter, but I will take you to him.

In the future, I will be traveling across Skyrim, for a few months at least, to learn new Words of Power. I also wanted to thank you again for your amulet, it seems Shouting is a lot easier when I wear it. It has been quite useful during my training and traveling.

By the way, Gerdur hopes you will be able to come to Riverwood for the Morning Star. I believe I will be staying a few days in Riverwood around that time to catch my breath, hopefully, we can see each other. I could show you how I wield a bow! I think you would be impressed since I could barely notch an arrow back in Helgen. On a very joyful note, I learned a Shout to stop your horrible Skyrim snow from falling. I shouted myself hoarse the day I learned it, though it does very little against the blood-freezing cold, it does calm the wind. I cannot wait for spring to come...

Affectionately yours,

LUTHIEN

Her signature was written in awful calligraphy and the ink had soaked through the paper in many places as she, no doubt, hesitated before tracing the crude letters. Her effort brought a little smile to the officer's lips. Placing the letter in his locked chest, he went to sleep. There would be a lot of work awaiting him tomorrow if he wanted to prepare his men to deal with Dawnstar during the two weeks' leave he would take for Morning Star.

A few weeks later, Ralof was finally coming home. As usual, Riverwood was barely covered in a thin blanket of snow and the temperature was a lot warmer than anywhere else in Skyrim. He could see the mill turning lazily in the calm water, the fields covered in a delicate frozen veil, and the white smoke coming out of the village's chimneys. The guards saluted him as he passed the doors, his heavy bear cape marking his rank.

It felt good to come home after months of hard work and fighting. He knew he ought to feel a bit guilty for leaving his men in Dawnstar when he took leave to be with his family, but it was one of the privileges of being an Officer, and since the death of the One-Eyed-Menace, the small city had been quite eventless. Surely, his men would enjoy his absence and frequent the local tavern a little more often than he normally would have allowed. His guilt faded when he saw the unmistakable leather-clad Dunmer talking animatedly with the resident hunter Faendal. They seemed to be enjoying themselves while working outside Alvor's forge. His good mood faded away quickly, being replaced by jealousy when his little elf leaned toward the Mer to whisper in his ear. He started walking a little faster in their direction, hoping to catch what they were talking about. The hunter was whispering back when he loudly cleared his throat. The little grey woman turned around briskly, knocking over the arrows she had been working on a moment earlier and smiled brightly at the tall blond man.

"Ralof!" she very nearly screamed, jumping to her feet and grabbing him in a surprisingly tight hug.

All trace of jealousy melted away when he felt her close to him. Not wasting a moment, he returned the hug, lifting her from the ground in the process, not caring if anyone thought it inappropriate.

"It's so good to see you," she breathed against his neck.

He fought the urge to kiss her in the middle of the street, consequences be damned, and settled to lightly brush his thumb across her ear lobe eliciting a small shiver. The gesture would appear odd but would not strike the Nords as much as a kiss. He noticed, though, that Faendal had averted his eyes quickly and cleared his throat discreetly.

A slight purple blush across her cheeks, Luthien stepped away from her friend and lover and introduced him to Faendal. Ralof learned that the two of them had gone on a two weeks adventure through the wild to hunt dragons! The Wood Elf had even found the time to teach her a thing or two about archery, which had allowed her to officially trade her mage robes for a light leather armour.

"Weren't you a mage?" asked Ralof a bit confused. He remembered how she had almost got them both killed in the cave near Helgen when she had tried to help him kill the sleeping bear. Her arrow had sprung free before she had properly aimed and, hitting a boulder, had woken the animal effectively robbing them of the element of surprise.

"No, as I told you before, I know a few spells but I'm too weak to fight long with magic. The bow his a lot more suited to my fighting style," she answered.

"You have a fighting style!" he replied flabbergasted. When had that little timid woman become a warrior? He did not mean to belittle her, but he could hardly imagine her fighting, even if he had seen her roasting a dragon to death.

"Yes, you see, Faendal taught me stealth fight," she told him. "It's how we've been dealing with dragons," she finished as if it was the banalest thing to say.

"Exactly how many dragons have you fought?"

"Four," replied the little woman, looking at the Mer companion for confirmation. When he nodded she turned back to Ralof. "They seem to know where I am…" she finished sheepishly.

"We can talk more about this later, for now, I'm just glad to see you alive," interrupted the tall Nord.

She could see the worry in his eyes and chose to respect his decision. Truth be told, she was also extremely happy to have him with her. Sensing the tension between the two of them, Faendal excused himself, grabbing his new arrows and latest quarry, and made his way to the Riverwood Trader. Now alone, Luthien and Ralof stood awkwardly facing each other. They both wanted nothing more than to be in each other arms, but being in public it was unfortunately impossible. Ralof was about to say something when Luthien spoke.

"You should go see Gerdur, she was worried about whether you would be here or not."

"Yes, I should," he answered his eyes never leaving hers.

Grabbing his large hand for a short comforting squeeze, Luthien replied, "Go, I have a few things to take care of. Meet me at the Inn when you are done. Ask for the attic room," she finished. She had to wait a bit before he let her hand go, then, they parted ways. Luthien quickly filled her quiver with the new arrows and, grabbing her bow, made her way to the Sleeping Giant.

The establishment was empty except for Embry, the town drunk who had probably spent more time and money at the inn than in his house in the past years, and Orgnar, the Innkeeper.

"If it isn't our Dragonborn!" said the black-haired man behind his counter cheerfully. "Your usual room's ready," he finished, showing her the largest room.

"Good day Orgnar. Thanks for the room," she answered while settling in what had been Delphine's room prior to the discovery of Sky Haven Temple. "If someone asks for the attic room, would you mind sending them to me?"

" 'course, anything for our Dragonborn. By the way, do you still have those huge bones from last time? I thought it'd be nice to put one on the wall."

Even since Delphine had introduced her to Orgnar as Dragonborn, the man had insisted she stay in the Inn free of charge. When she had argued and 'accidentally' slipped a coin purse in his pocket, he had accepted to receive artifacts from her travels as a form of payment. He now had a complete collection of ancient Nord weaponry adorning his wall and a beautiful collection of rings to exhibit on his counter. Apparently, he would very soon have dragon bones hanging from his ceiling too, thought Luthien as she brought him a heavy ivory tibia she kept stored in the hidden room.

The sun was low on the horizon when Gerdur finally released Ralof. Even though he was eager to meet with Luthien again, he had to admit seeing his sister had been very pleasant. She had fussed a bit about him being gone for too long, then they had shared stories about their time apart. She had, of course, insisted he ate a large bowl of stew, after which Frodnar had tumbled in the house with Stump asking for stories. He had to calm the boy down when he told him he had fought a dragon and had to deal with a very excited nephew fighting imaginary dragons for the rest of the evening.

He was a bit surprised to see Orgnar managing the Inn by himself, even more, when he was directed to the master bedroom after asking for the attic one. The first thing he noticed was that the bedroom was empty. He was about to exit the room and ask the innkeeper for an explanation when he heard a voice coming out of the wardrobe. "Is someone there?"

"Luthien? Why are you hiding in the wardr…" his speech was interrupted as the small woman emerged from the wooden furniture and motioned for him to follow her.

"There's no way I'll fit in that thing," he argued as she grabbed his arm and pulled him behind her.

"Just follow me silly!" added the Dunmer, rolling her eyes.

She showed him the hidden room and motioned for him to climb down the stairs. She then carefully closed the wooden doors and slid the false wall behind her before joining him downstairs. She found him looking at the impressive weapon collection on the wall. Walking softly behind him, she encircled his waist and lifted herself on tiptoes to place a light kiss on his neck.

"Luthien," he said in warning. "We need to talk."

Relinquishing her hold, she allowed him to face her. "Ask away", she whispered against his chest as she brought her arms around him once more.

"First of all, what is this?" he said showing the room around them.

"It's a hidden room, to talk and do secret things," she answered with a smile, unclasping his heavy fur cloak and pushing it off his shoulders.

"Luthien, I'm serious."

"It's a secret room. I met Delphine and Esbern, the last of the Blades, here. We made plans about defeating Alduin, killing dragons, and finding a hidden temple." She took a few seconds to place a kiss on his chin and resumed her talking. "We plotted the infiltration of the Thalmor Embassy, I stole secret documents," she unclasped the belt holding his blue drape. "We found the secret Temple and Delphine left me the room. Satisfied?" she finished pulling the blue cloth to the ground.

"Who is that wise man you were talking about in your letter?" asked Ralof, avoiding the dark grey lips that tried to silence him with a kiss. It had been hard to read that letter so full of secret and he was eager to know more. Reading such praise about someone else had been a harder than he liked to admit. He knew he ought not to be jealous but it was hard, especially since she had been so far away.

"His name is Paarthurnax, he's the Greybeard's mentor," she could see a hint of jealousy in Ralof blue eyes and while untying the chainmail at the nape of his neck she said, "He's impossibly old, you have nothing to fear."

Ralof felt his breath catch in his throat when she began pulling his heavy chainmail. While doing so, her hands were deftly caressing his abdomen and chest through the thin linen shirt he wore underneath. He felt goosebumps erupt on his skin when she lightly raked her nails on his sides, urging the offending piece of armour even upward. "Lift your arms", he heard her whisper against his lips. He complied, his questions momentarily forgotten, and helped her by bowing forward, allowing her to pull the chainmail off. Without ceremony, she let the leather padded vest fall to the ground noisily and stepped toward him leaving a few hairs of space between their bodies.

"Any more questions," she asked, kneeling in front of him and proceeding to untie his leather breeches. He managed to answer steadily despite the light caresses and heat "Yes, many". He could feel her breath on his exposed tented underwear as she lifted his right foot to remove his boot and had to brace himself against the rock wall. Her heat radiating through his clothes delicious on his skin and his mind was slowly going blank, where was the shy little woman he knew? He stood motionless, only lifting his left foot when he was motioned to, as he tried to organize a sentence. He finally managed to ask, "Were you hurt?"

"Finally!" she thought before answering in a sultry tone, still kneeling in front of him, her hands caressing his thighs, "I don't think so, but you could always make sure."

Looking at her like never before, he brought a hand to her jaw, lightly brushing her ear lobe on the process, and, motioning for her to stand up, captured her lips in an amorous kiss. It was neither desperate nor needy like the ones they shared months ago in Dawnstar; it was slow, loving and tender. At this very moment, Ralof felt something latch in place inside of him; somehow, he knew he could never feel more complete than he did holding Luthien. Calling on every thread of willpower he could muster, he interrupted the little grey hands traveling across his body and spoke in a hoarse voice, "Not like his, not here".

He could see a flash of fear and sorrow cross her delicate grey feature as she tried to back away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes cast downward, "I thought…"

He interrupted her with a caress on her cheek, "You deserve more than this," he said looking around.

"I was too forward," she whispered with a strained voice, "I'm sorry".

He stopped her from bolting out of the room by hugging her tightly against him. He felt her stiffen and relax as he spoke calmly in her ear.

"I liked you forwardness little one, a lot, but I won't have you against a wall anymore". He cursed himself for being so poor with words and added, hoping to defuse the situation, "Maybe we could try the bed?"

He felt her nod her head against his chest and hugged her a little tighter while placing a kiss on her silky head.

They made it to the bedroom holding hands and when he started undressing her slowly, almost with reverence, he could feel her tensed beneath his hands. He tried to get her to relax with kissed and caresses but nothing seemed to work. "Luthien, we don't have to do anything if you don't want to," said Ralof. He had to admit, it would be painful to stop right there, but he would do everything to make her comfortable. He was quite alarmed to see tears roll from her white eyes and her small shoulders shake. Stripped of her armour she looked extremely vulnerable in the light linen tunic she wore underneath to prevent chaffing.

"Why are you so nice to me?" she said, her voice soft and broken.

He opened his mouth to answer, but she spoke before him, "It's the first time anyone had been so nice, so kind. I'm afraid," she admitted while looking at him with her tear-streaked face.

"Come here", he said while sitting on the edge of the bed with her, balled up, on his knees. Allowing her to bury her face in his chest, he rubbed soothing circles on her back until she stopped crying. She grew limp on him until, realizing she had fallen asleep, he laid her on the bed. His arousal had quickly decreased as she started crying, but he still craved her presence next to him. Being as silent as he could manage, he went back down in the hidden room and brought back his blue drape and bear cloak. He winced as the wardrobe door creaked on its hinges as he hid the best he could the access to the secret room. He, then, settled himself on the bed next to the sleeping elf and covered them both with his drape and cloak.

She woke up in what she assumed was the middle of the night. No noises came from the inn and she could hear Orgnar snoring loudly from his bedroom. She could also feel Ralof's warm arm resting across her waist and his deep breath rustling the thin hair at the nape of her neck. Turning around as discreetly as she could manage, she found herself gazing at his face. He looked so peaceful, she thought. Even though she knew he was most likely tired from his long journey to Riverwood, she could not suppress the urge to caress his face. When he slightly moved toward her hand, she recoiled. Was she really ready to face him again? Truly, she was scared. It was one thing to say you loved someone in the throes of passion, but to truly feel like you could not be entirely whole without one person was a terribly unsettling feeling. She knew she would never be able to call Ralof her own no matter how much she loved him and him her. He would eventually have to marry someone, likely a Nord woman, to give Skyrim sons and daughters, and she was afraid of what would become of her. She would not bear to rob a woman from the love of her husband, therefore, she would have to leave and run as far away as she could. She would then be left broken, empty, far away in the eternal winter of Skyrim until she was slain by Alduin or one of his henchmen. Maybe she could sail to Solstheim and…

Her line of thought was broken when Ralof woke. Through his still sleep-clouded eyes, he looked at her and smiled. As she nearly drowned in the blue of his eyes, she realized she was already too far in love with him to be able to go back now. Even if she ran, she could never fully recover. Somehow, she knew that thought should have unnerved her a lot more, but instead it brought her peace.

On the Imperial City Waterfront, if you were lucky enough to come in possession of, let say, a piece of fresh meat, you were faced with two choices; you either ate it all at once, or you ate only a part of it and hid the rest for the next day. The inhabitants of the Waterfront all learned very early that you, unfortunately, could never hide it well enough. Therefore, it was carved in everyone's mind that you enjoyed what you were lucky enough to have one day without making plans for the future. The past was no longer, the future might not even come to pass; the present was the only sure thing. It was that simple. Which was why Luthien did not bolt when Ralof brought his hand to her face that night and caressed her with devotion. Why she helped him remove his linen shirt breaking the kiss they shared. Why she did not flinch when he straddled her and kissed his way up to her breasts as he slowly removed her own shirt. She would enjoy her time with him and deal with the inevitable heartache when it hit her.

Ralof had honestly not planned on doing more than a little cuddling with his little elf when he caressed her that night. She had been so distressed a few hours before, he did not want to push her too fast too quickly, but when she began rubbing his manhood through his leather pants and undressing him he retaliated with enthusiasm. He had never had the time to properly admire her body except for a few stolen glances in Helgen, which hardly counted as anything, so he took his time, despite the near-complete darkness of the room, to discover the lithe woman beneath him. While removing her thin shirt and brassiere he kissed, licked, and lightly nipped every landmark on the beautiful dark grey expense of her torso. He was careful to give special attention to the sensitive nipples, rolling them delicately between his teeth and sucking at them until they were swollen and glistering with his saliva. Not having to be as silent as in Dawnstar, the Dunmer was making small whimpers and pants as the blond Nord made his way, excruciatingly slowly, to her ears. She brought her hands to the edge of his breeches and undid the lace like earlier this evening. She, then, pushed the leather attire down, freeing him. He groaned in relief as the restraining leather was removed and interrupted his exploration to completely free himself of the garment. He then delved back and nipped at the fleshy earlobe and sucked at it until Luthien let out a loud moan. She caressed his back, kneading the muscles until she reached the undergarment. Slipping her hand beneath it, she cupped the burning hot appendage, wrapped her fingers around it, and rubbed the moisture she found at the tip around the head. She earned a throaty moan before her hand was removed. She could hardly see the blue in Ralof's eyes anymore as it was swallowed by the dilated pupils. Kissing her once more on the lips, he lowered himself until his chin came to rest on her cloth-covered pubic bone. Their eyes met as he removed her last piece of clothing and gave a long lick on the hot flesh beneath. He heard her take a sharp breath as his tongue snaked over the delicate folds and flicked at the hard little nub of flesh. He held her down as she tried to lift her hips to increase the friction and continued his ministration. She arched her back and pulled roughly at his long hair when he slipped a finger inside of her. She was so warm and wet he almost stopped everything to plunge himself hilt deep in her inviting core. Hastily adding a second finger he felt her clamps around them at the intrusion as she bit her lower lip to muffle a high pitched cry. Feeling her relax, he curled his fingers upward and felt her go rigid underneath her.

"Let it go Luthien," he whispered, his lips grazing her sensitive folds.

"Ralof!" was the only thing she could mutter as pleasure took her.

His mouth resumed his action on her clitoris and his fingers rubbed relentlessly that spot inside of her until she stopped clenching around them and went limp on the bed. As she came back from the intense orgasm, Ralof removed his loincloth and lay besides her, caressing her side lovingly. He was a bit surprised when she rolled over him and straddled his hip but quickly ground his engorged member against her wet folds nonetheless.

"Luthien," he breathed, "please".

Bending forward to place a kiss on his lips, tasting herself on them, she lifted her hips and guided him to her entrance. They both moaned loudly as they became one. After adjusting to his girth, Luthien began to move slowly at first and faster as passion took them both. With Ralof's strong hands guiding her up and down she reached a second peak that night and bowed forward, muffling her cries against the crook of his neck. He came shortly after that, moaning her name in broken, barely discernable, syllables while holding her tightly against his chest. Sweaty and satisfied they fell asleep, limbs intertwined for the remainder of the night.

The next morning, Ralof left early, avoiding Orgnar's observant eye. He met Faendal who was coming back from his hunt and approached the man.

"You wrote the letter, right?" he said without proper greetings.

"I did", nodded the smaller man.

They had known each other since Ralof was no older than Frodnar, yet they had never spoken. Faendal was probably over seventy by the time Ralof was twenty yet he did not seem to age, which had unnerved the young Nord at the time. He knew now that Mer aged much slower than Men, yet knowing his interlocutor was probably in his eighty and still in his prime was slightly disturbing.

"Who is she," asked the Nord.

Despite the question being very imprecise, the Bosmer knew exactly to whom he was referring.

"Camilla Valerius," he said softly with a small smile.

Ralof nodded and they staid like this, facing each other silently, somehow understanding each other better than anyone else despite barely knowing each other.

Faendal broke the silence, "She's very young you know. I mean, very," he emphasized looking pointedly at the tall blond man. "And you are middle-aged." Seeing the Nord was about to retort, he lifted his hand to silence him. "I don't blame you, you did not know and neither did she. She was, obviously, not raised by Mers. Which is why I have to tell you this. You have maybe forty, perhaps fifty years to live. More likely much less, being a soldier. She might not know, but she has roughly two hundred and fifty years ahead of her… Be careful with her." He was walking away when he turned around and added, "And don't ever again touch her ears in public. It's incredibly rude."

Ralof walked around the village aimlessly, trying to make sense of everything Faendal had said. He could not quite wrap his mind around the little elf incredibly long life spawn. He had also been a little shaken by the way the Bosmer had insisted on the very young. By Nord standards, she was a fully-grown woman, was it the same by Mer standards? He kicked a small rock angrily and finally settled to think that, if she was old enough to be out fighting dragons and risking her life for Skyrim, she was old enough to be with him. For the life spawn difference, he would have to talk to her, but this was a discussion for another day.

Luthien woke alone in the large bed. She was tucked in the covers, yet she felt strangely cold. She had wished Ralof would still be there, sleeping next to her, when she woke up. It hurt more than she would have thought. Even his blue drape and cape had disappeared. Sighing, she got out of bed and got dressed. She would have to get used to waking up alone if she wanted to keep seeing her Nord lover, she thought. She would not cause his untimely demise to satisfy her foolish dreams.

She knocked lightly on Gerdur's door and was greeted by Frodnar and his dog. He was, as always, very happy to see her as she always took some time to narrate her combats in great detail. Of course, he was not aware she cut out the blood and gore out to fill it with glory and exaggeration, and enjoyed her story-telling to no end. She noticed Ralof was already there, slowly tossing a steaming caldron of what smelled like meat and ale stew. Gerdur, friendly as ever, hugged her like a sister and sent her to cut various vegetables. Hod managed to shake her hand before being scolded by his wife for not paying attention to the boiling milk. After a lot of work, the dinner was finally ready and they all sat up to eat. Hod and Ralof started talking about the dragon menace and how it was making commerce increasingly difficult. Frodnar boasted about his feats of arms, notably a particular prank he played on a little girl a few days back while Gerdur entertained Luthien with small talk and various gossips. The elf could not remember ever feeling so relaxed and happy. He had never had a family diner before and, she thought, it was probably one of the best thing that had ever happened to her. Everyone talked, laughed, and ate great food together. She was with the people she loved most in all of Skyrim and she could forget the dragon menace, the Greybeards, the Blades, the war, the Jarl… for the duration of the meal, she was entirely carefree.

Ralof still had a few days left before he had to go back to Dawnstar. He had planned on going out for a walk with Luthien and maybe Frodnar if he wanted to come along. Maybe they could take his nephew hunting. With the ruckus he was sure to make, there was no way they would catch anything, but the boy would surely enjoy it. His plans were, how ever crushed when he heard a guard scream.

"Dragon!"

He barely had time to turn toward the guard before the large beast's claws caught the poor man. He heard Gerdur scream at Frodnar from the mill to hide but the boy was behind the inn, too far out to hear her and too mesmerized by the beast to react. He stood there, holding his wooden sword loosely as the scaled monster walked toward him. The Stormcloak officer was unsheathing his axe and running toward his nephew when he heard Luthien, standing next to him, Shout. The next few things happened extremely fast, yet Ralof had the feeling time had stopped. The little elf, that was next to him an instant, almost materialized in front of Frodnar the next. Facing the dragon, she barely had the time to push the boy back before the monster's jaws closed around her midriff. She was then lifted from the ground as she screamed in agony and shaken from left to right in the sickening noise of breaking bones. The monster finally released her and her broken body landed gracelessly on the frozen ground. Ralof heard someone scream, but he did not recognize the voice. Later, he realized it was his. Armed with his iron axe, he charged at the beast with a fierce battle cry. He vaguely registered arrows flying beside his head and someone telling him to stand back, but nothing mattered anymore. The dragon had to die.

Faendal was chopping wood when he heard the guard scream. Instinctively, he dropped the axe and his hand went to his bow. He notched an arrow and aimed at the dragon. The dragon was relatively small with torn wings; he was probably one of the weakest ones. He also had bronze-like scales, which indicated he was probably immune to fire. Cursing, the Bosmer called frost to his hand. He was not a strong mage, but he could create a bit of ice. Wrapping his hand around an arrowhead, he concentrated on the frost energy. Once he opened his palm, he had an acceptable ice coated arrow laying in it. Notching it on his bow, he aimed at the beast. He saw in horror as the vicious monster caught his friend in his powerful jaw and threw her on the ground, broken, and likely dead. He released his arrow and prepared another. He could not allow himself to care right now; it would only impede his ability to slay the beast. He saw the man, Ralof, charge at the dragon, a ridiculous axe in hand. He screamed at him to stand back, but the man could not hear him over his cry. He ordered the guards to aim at the wings, just like he had done with Luthien. Fortunately for them, the dragon already had damaged wings and could not lift itself in the air anymore. It roared in frustration as the frozen arrows pierced his thick scales and tried to snap his jaws at the screaming man attacking it but missed, the man had rolled to the ground. "He's going to get himself killed," thought Faendal. As if one fool was not enough, he saw Gerdur run toward the little boy weeping on the ground next to the Dunmer. The woman ran in the freezing stream and unsheathed a dagger as she came close to the dragon. Releasing another ice-coated arrow, Faendal saw her grab the little boy bodily and carry him in the safety of the nearest house. Her husband Hod, who was running from the forest to the village since the guard had screamed, finally arrived on the scene and ran toward his wife, shielding her from the monster with his body and pushing her inside the house with Frodnar despite her protest and vain attempts to escape him. After what seemed like an eternity, the dragon finally crashed to the ground with one last roar. The blood-soaked Nord ran toward the broken body of his lover and kneeled beside her head. Faendal could hear the heart-tearing scream of the man as he saw the horrible state his lover was in.

Ralof could not believe his eyes. Luthien, his Luthien was covered in blood, open wounds tearing through her abdomen. He could see the blood flow from the wounds, but they were everywhere, he could not press on them all. He could hear his little elf wheezing and straining to breathe despite the crushed ribs and blood-filled lungs. He could see her opening her mouth, trying to breathe in more air, to no avail. She had tears streaking her face and her eyes were wide open in panic as she suffocated in her own blood. Ralof dared not grab her in his arms for fear it would increase her suffering so he settled for cradling her head in his arms.

Faendal had never been so relieved to see a dragon's remains combusting. It meant the Dragonborn was still alive; it meant there was still hope. On his way toward the fallen elf, he stopped by Camilla's.

"I need all of your healing potions, now!" he screamed as he slammed the door open.

Lucan, Camilla's brother, started to object that he could not just hand over good products freely until Faendal told him, hoisting him on his over his counter by the collar of his shirt, that the Dragonborn was dying. After that outburst from the normally calm and reserved man, Camilla handed him six small, red vials despite her brother's vociferation and the hunter ran toward the fallen hero. He fell on his knees beside her while uncorking a vial.

"Luthien," he spoke, panic rising in his tone as the sight of her mangled body. "I need you to drink that", he said holding the vial to the blood-stained lips. Tilting the vial, he poured a few drops of the crystal clear solution in her opened mouth.

She tried to cough, but her body could not and she opened her eyes even more as she felt the liquid pour in her trachea. She could hear Ralof telling Faendal that he was killing her, but the sounds seemed so far away; the pain was fading. Everything was too bright though. She tried to close her eyes to avoid the bright light, but she was shaken back to the painful reality. She felt liquid being poured on her wounds; it hurt but not as much as the dragon's teeth. She tried to squirm away but found she could not move her legs anymore neither could she feel them.

"Drink Luthien," she heard again.

She shook her head, she could not breathe properly; she was drowning in blood, in pain. Despite her protests, she felt two hands holding her head back, mouth open, while someone poured the liquid down her throat. She tried to spit it out, but she was too weak. She tried to move her hands but they were too heavy. Everything was going dark around her, she could hear some more scream. Someone was shaking her and it hurt so much but she could not hold on anymore.


	8. Chapter 8: No One Says No To Me

The healer Danica, priestess of Kynareth, in Whiterun, had been clear; the woman should have died on the spot. She could not explain how the frail-looking elf had managed to keep breathing long enough to be force-fed healing potions. Neither could she comprehend how the potions had been forced upon the mangled body before her; she must have felt like she was drowning. She had told the two distraught men who had carried her up to the temple of Kynareth that she would do everything she could to save their precious Dragonborn but that there was no way to know before she actually woke if she would recover fully in the aftermath. Considering every rib, six vertebrae, both scapula, and iliac bones had been crushed, along with a pierced liver, bowels, and lungs, the healer could not even guaranty the Dunmer would ever walk again, much less fight dragons. The healing potions were incredibly helpful to mend broken skin and bones, but it was not meant to fuse and realign torn tissues and powdered bones. She had congratulated the crying Nord for his quick thinking about pouring the potion on the torn flesh. Though it was not the recommended way, it was quick and effective. Some scaring wounds would later have to be reopened to extract pieces of fabric and various other debris, but it had most likely saved the woman's life.

It had taken everything out of Faendal to send Ralof back to Windhelm. The poor man had spent the whole day crying his soul out until he had no tears left to shed. He had to slap the man out of his pitiful state to avoid rousing suspicions as they traveled through the crowded city; People stared at the odd group as they carried the bloody and unconscious body of a Dunmer. Fortunately, there were no Stormcloak soldiers in Whiterun or Ralof would have been in serious trouble. If it was uncanny to see a Nord cry, it was shocking to see one shed tears for a Mer, or even worst, a Dunmer.

After delivering Luthien's body to the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun, they had made their way back to Riverwood. Ralof needed to pack and leave for Windhelm, a courier had found them as they were exiting the temple to deliver a letter from Jarl Ulfric himself summoning the young Officer, and Faendal needed to pack a few things before he came back to watch over the wounded woman. They also needed to make sure Frodnar, Gerdur, and Hod were doing all right and thank Camilla for the potions. It worried the both of them to leave Luthien with the healers, but it was too strange for a Nord to be seen so moved beside a Dunmer and Faendal could not remain there with no money, nothing to eat and no change of clothes, plus he needed to pull the tall blond man back or else he would get himself and his lover in even more trouble.

The Bosmer could clearly remember, as he stood guard beside his friend stone bed, a day and a half later, the last words he shared with the Stormcloak Officer.

"Are you mad!" he had screamed to the man as he shoved him against the wall of his house. "Do you have any idea about how much trouble you two could be in if someone even suspected what you're up to!".

"I need to stay," sobbed the man, weakly trying to escape the Mer's grip. "I need to see her when she wakes, I…"

He could not finish his sentence for the white-haired hunter cut him short, screaming.

"She could be killed!"

Seeing the other was finally staying silent, he continued. Had the Stormcloak really no idea how bad the situation was for Morrowind refugees? How bellicose the people of Skyrim were in their regard?

"There are people who would not hesitate to poison her, or even slit her throat, or burn the whole temple to the ground if they suspected she was 'tainting' a 'true son of Skyrim'. Your people can be extremely cruel when it comes to Mers. Ulfric's rebellion and views on the matter did a really good job of making our lives miserable."

"But she's Dragonborn! No one would dare raise a hand against her," tried the blond warrior.

"She is a broken body laying on a stone slab," corrected the hunter, voice as cold as death. "She is defenceless and you must do your utmost to prevent any more harm to come to her." His voice was calm now, appeasing. He knew it would hurt the young man to leave, but he could see no other way to keep them all safe. The Nord was not thinking straight and his rash actions would get them hurt, if not worst.

"What should I do," whispered the man, defeated, clearly unable to think for himself at that moment.

"You must leave for Windhelm at once. Answer the summon you received, act as you normally would, and, may Stendarr have mercy, do not in any circumstances show your affection for Luthien," advised Faendal.

The man had left in the early morning for Windhelm. The night had dried his tears but his spirit was still low and if the dark shadows below his eyes were any indication, he had not slept at all. He had pondered over the reason for his summon yet could not pierce the mystery. The letter was straight to the point, asking him to leave everything he was doing, report back to Windhelm at once, and gave no indication why his presence was needed. Maybe it was the usual procedure with new Officers, to check on their progress and give them new orders. Ralof tried not to think about the last time he was in Dawnstar with Luthien; how revolted Jorvak had been, seeing him sleeping next to the Dunmer. He tried not to think about what would happen if his man, disgusted as he had been, had written an official complaint to their leader denouncing his derogatory acts.

Gerdur was rattled to the bones. She could hardly stay in place for more than a few minutes and needed to keep her son in eyesight at all times. As soon as she managed to close her eyes, she saw that vicious beast about to gulp her Frodnar and woke up screaming, tear running free on her face. Her husband, Hod, was as shook up as her if not more. He had been away, chopping wood for the mills when he had heard the screams. He could not help but think about what would have happened had Luthien not stepped before his son and taken the bite in his stead. For the first time in a long time, Frodnar had slept in bed with his parents, securely tucked between the two of them. He had not uttered a word since the incident and spent all his waking time reading, petting Stump, or pacing inside the house.

Faendal, for his part, tried to keep a composed appearance. He wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and scream at every Gods he knew for the unfairness of the situation, but he had to keep going. The Gods would still be there to scream at and insult when everything was back in order, but for the moment, Luthien needed someone to protect her, and Gerdur's family needed support. He owned his happiness to Luthien and was determined to keep her and the people she cared about safe.

With his essential packed and his bow and full quiver strapped to his back, the Wood Elf made his way to Gerdur's cottage. Strong as ever, Hod had gone back to work the morning following the events; he needed to keep the mill running and he needed to feed his family. Gerdur had stayed home with Frodnar who still refused to speak. The tired-looking woman greeted the hunter when he knocked on the oak door.

"Good day Gerdur," said the Mer, "I came to see if you needed anything before I went back to Whiterun."

"Good day to you too Faendal." Replied the woman suppressing a yawn. "Thanks for asking but there is nothing more that can be done. Thanks for taking care of my brother and Luthien. We owe you so much already," she finished, grabbing his hand and squeezing lightly.

"If you need anything while I'm gone, ask Camilla, she'll help you out," finished the hunter before taking his leave.

It was too early to see Camilla as her brother's shop was not yet opened, so he slipped a letter beneath the door expressing his thanks, love, and explaining where he would be for the next few days. Hopefully, he would be able to spend a few moments with her when he came back. It had been a while since he had the pleasure of holding her against him, away from prying eyes. Without looking back, he started walking in the cold morning toward Whiterun. He would be there by noon if he hurried and, hopefully, nothing would have happened to his friend in his absence.

It had been three days since the accident when Luthien finally opened her eyes, but she did not know it yet. She could only see the stone-carved ceiling above her. It smelled of herbs and freshwater. Her rattled brain vaguely remembered having been there before. "Kynareth," she thought. "It's the temple of Kynareth." She tried to turn her head to see the other patients. She feared she would see Ralof or Frodnar. She could only remember stepping in front of the little boy before the monstrous jaws had closed around her, plunging her in a world of pain. Mustering her forces, she managed to roll her head to the side. There were no child or blond man on the stone slabs; she felt tears of relief roll on her cheeks. "Blessed Azura, they are unharmed", she thought. She moaned in pain as she tried and failed to sit up. Immediately, she left something stir beside her. A sharp-angled face came into view, white hair: Faendal! She tried to open her mouth to speak, but her throat was too dry and she nearly gagged.

"Priestess, she's awake," screamed the Mer.

"Praised be Kynareth", breathed the woman as she came running toward the bed.

She placed a hand behind Luthien's head and helped her drink a small amount of water. Despite the Dunmer woman pleas, she did not give her anymore. Apparently, she needed to get used to having something in her stomach again before she could get any more, or else she would most likely vomit. Groaning as she was lowered to the bed again, the little elf asked, looking desperately at her hunter friend, "Ralof, Frodnar". She wanted to be more precise, but she was feeling groggy and could not enunciate more.

"They are fine. They're both fine. You did great Luthien," replied the Bosmer.

He could see she was exhausted despite her wounds being closed and having been lying for three days, so he kept it short. She did not yet need to know that Ralof was on his way to Windhelm and Frodnar was still shaking like a leaf in his house. She needed peace of mind, so he gave it to her and she succumbed to sleep. It was not pain-induced coma or near-death unconsciousness; she was simply sleeping this time.

She woke again six hours later. In the candlelight, she looked even paler than she did before. Her eyes were half-lidded and she only managed to mumble incomplete sentences, but she was awake. With Faendal's help and Danica's permission, she managed to drink some more water and milk. It wasn't much, but it made her feel sated and hydrated.

She kept popping in and out of consciousness for about a day and every time, as she woke, disoriented, and scared, Faendal would be there, calm and comforting by her side. He would reassure her that both Ralof and Frodnar were doing fine and feed her some light meal until she slipped in the comfort of sleep once more.

Five days after the terrible accident, Luthien got in a fight with priestess Danica despite Faendal's attempts at calming her. The poor woman was clearly not used to having her patients rebel against her advice in such a way. It was painfully visible in her pale, scared expression and stuttering speech.

"I don't care about pain," screamed the little grey Mer. "I need to get up and I need to get out of here!"

"But… you barely just arrived! Your wounds… you shouldn't even be…You need to stay in bed for a few days more, at least!" tried the healer.

"Alduin is growing stronger as we speak! I do not have the luxury of resting and getting better!" raged the wounded woman as she unsuccessfully tried for the sixth time that morning to sit on the stone bed.

"The damage was too extensive, foolish girl!" exploded the even-tempered priestess. "There is no magic or potion that can fix such a mess in five days! You will tear the new tissues open and this time you will die." Though she did not wish to admit it (professionalism and all) she had taken a liking to the little Mer. She had been polite and complying until then and she did not want to see her tear her fresh scars open and bleed to death on the tiled floor of the temple. She really did not understand what had happened to change her demeanor so much in such a short time; she would not even listen to her friend! Maybe there had been some brain damage she had failed to assess. All in all, she was scared; that little woman, incapacitated or not, was able to kill with her Voice just like Jarl Ulfric, and seeing her so out of herself was worrying. "If you do not calm down this instant, I'll call the guards!" she threatened, overwhelmed.

At that comment, Faendal, who had tried to remains silent during the exchange, immobilized his friend on her bed.

"Luthien, what is going on!" he fumed through clenched teeth, holding her in place.

He released her as soon as the started to cry, sobs rattling her frail body. Instead, he delicately slipped his arms around her shaking form and brought her to his chest, hugging her. He had to pat her back and caress her hair for a few minutes in front of the stunned priestess before she started talking.

At first, it was incomprehensible foreign syllables rolling fluently out of her mouth until Faendal calmly explained to her no one understood Dunmeri. Both friends went incredibly stiff as she spoke in Norse, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "He as risen another one".

After two weeks in the wild with the Dunmer, Faendal was familiar with her strange dreams and night terrors. He knew how precise they could be and how they terrified his friend. Indicating to the priestess that everything was under control, he spoke in a calm tone, "I know it's bad Luthien, but you are cannot fight any dragons if you end up dead on the floor of the temple."

The little woman sobbed a little while longer before replying, "I know… you're right, as always." Freeing herself of the hug the best she could without falling back in the bed she added, "But I need to try, I need to do something. Help me Faendal. I know I won't fight today, or tomorrow. But I need to stand, if only that. Please."

Seeing the priestess was about to retort, he silenced her with a wave of his hand. "I'll help you, but only if you promise to tell me if you feel something hurt more than it should." Seeing her nodding feverishly he added, "Swear to it". After she complied, he helped her sit on the bed with her feet to the floor. Seeing her waver a little he sat beside her and waited until she nodded and asked him to resume. Carefully, facing her, he wrapped his sinewy arms around her freshly healed ribcage, just below her armpits. Then, bracing her feet and knees between his legs, he slowly pushed himself up, taking her with him. As she stood on shaky legs, pressed against him he waited for her approval searching her face for any sign of sudden pain. Despite the look of it, there was nothing sensual about their apparent embrace; it was the best way to lift a wounded and weak person up, nothing more, and nothing less.

"I can stand!" she whispered, relieved.

"Any pain," he asked, already knowing the answer he was going to receive.

She could feel her bones screaming and her flesh pulling but, as painful as it was, it did not feel like anything was tearing apart so she replied, "No, I'm fine." Swallowing a pained moan she continued, "Can we walk a bit?"

Despite knowing she was not fine as she tried to make him believe, Faendal did not argue, it was useless. When that little bite of a woman had something ingrained in her brain, especially if it had to do with destroying dragons, nothing could deter her from it.

Releasing an arm from around her, he supported her by placing her arm across his shoulders and holding her at the hip. That way he could carry her weight as much as needed and he could prevent her from wobbling and falling to the ground. They paced across the room for a few minutes under Danica's disproving eyes before the little Dunmer faltered, forcing her friend to carry her back to the bed. Gripping his arm tightly as he lowered her on the patted stone slab she whispered her thanks before succumbing to sleep, utterly drained.

The next day, she managed to walk outside with Faendal's help. They sat for a while under the dead tree in the courtyard, watching the people pass them by. They talked about the journey that awaited Luthien when she fully recovered, and about Ralof's and Frodnar's whereabouts. The tired woman was glad to learn that her lover was on his way back to Windhelm. Though she wished he could have been there, talking and walking with her, she was grateful he did not endanger himself for her sake. As a Waterfront rat, she was really not worth it, she thought despite her white-haired friend's protests.

As the days went by, Luthien got her strength back. It took longer than she would have wanted, but she now realized that she would need her full capacities back if she was to stand a chance against Alduin and his acolytes.

Ten days after the accident, she was on her way to Riverwood with Faendal. Danica had wished them well on their journey back, and long since resigned to seeing her advice ignored, had not insisted on Luthien resting or taking things slowly.

She had handed Faendal two strong healing potions and a salve to apply on the wounds should the journey prove eventful or should the little Dunmer behave rashly and break the newly repaired skin and bones.

That night, Hod, who had gone to Whiterun to see the little woman two days after the attack to bring Faendal food, was incredibly happy and surprised to see her standing in front of his house and invited her in without hesitation. As they all sat around Gerdur's table to share a late supper, Frodnar spoke for the first time since the attack. He had spent the evening staring at the Dunmer like he expected her to fall dead to the ground or scold him for nearly getting her killed. When she fondly tousled his hair, a large smile blossomed on his round face and he started talking about how hard he would train to be a Dragonborn and how he would avenge her. When Luthien asked to retire to the night, Gerdur insisted she slept in Ralof's bed. There was no way in the woman's mind, the savior of both the brother and son would sleep at the inn when she had a warm bed to offer. With a little help from Faendal, and a kiss from Frodnar, Luthien quickly fell asleep. Shortly after, the Wood Elf retired, leaving the potions and salve with Gerdur. It would be good, he thought, to finally sleep in his bed after camping for a little more than a week on the hard stone floor of the temple.

The next morning, when Gerdur woke up, Ralof's bed was empty, the healing potions and salve were gone and there was a little note on the kitchen table. Unfolding the parchment, the woman read the following:

TANKS FOR EVREE TING

LUTHIEN

The journey toward Winterhold would be exhausting, but she could not delay any more. The sun was barely showing behind the mountains as she passed near the Whiterun Stables. Feeling her wounds protesting after the relatively short walk, she hired the carriage stationed there to take her to Winterhold. Warmly bundled in her fur cloak, she shivered in the morning winter breeze. Hopefully, the College would be warm!

If she had ever thought Windhelm was freezing and decrepit, it seemed like a warm and welcoming city compared to Winterhold. The inhabitants had fled the city years ago; the wind was freezing and could pierce through any coat, no matter how thick. As if this was not enough, the College seemed to float above the tumultuous icy water, its bridge lying partly in ruin down the cliff it allowed to cross. Her whole body hurt, especially her back, and Luthien felt the little hope she still had after the four days long trip across the snowy land shatter. She, nonetheless, walked toward the college bridge and as she stepped on the ice-coated stones, a stern-looking Altmer confronted her. Luthien explained she was there to retrieve an Elder Scroll and was laughed at. When she tried to argue that she was the Dragonborn and thus needed to enter the College, she was not believed. The woman was adamant; she needed to pass the test and prove her worth, otherwise, she could go back the way she had come.

"Fine!" she finally yielded. "I want to learn how to heal."

"A fine choice in those chaotic times," replied the Altmer in a deep voice. "I challenge you to cast the Healing Hands on me. If you succeed, I'll escort you inside."

"I don't know any spells that can heal others, but I really need to get in," she pleaded.

After acquiring the requested spellbook, Luthien kneeled on the frozen ground and, removing her gloves, placed her bare hands on the pages containing the incantation. As she had done in Helgen, she read the required runes and the book turned to ashes, leaving her more knowledgeable. Quickly putting her gloves back on her numb hands, she stood up to face the tall Mer. Placing her small hand on the other woman elbow, she conjured the newly acquired power and smiled as the golden light flew from her palm to create a halo around her target.

As she finally crossed the bridge, carefully following the woman, Faralda as she had introduced herself, she Shouted at the air like she had done so many times to climb the Throat of the World. It momentarily appeased the wind and slowed the snowfall. Luthien had to bite her lips to prevent a laugh from escaping her at the startled expression the stern Altmer gave her. She had been warned that she was escorting the Dragonborn after all.

She liked that old Orsimer Urag! He looked like he could crush her skull with one hand despite his old age, yet he kept dusting off old tomes with a little feather duster and uttering threats to anyone courageous enough to pass the library's door. Luthien was used to threats; living as a beggar and sometimes thief, she had received her fair share. She was thus not deterred by the rash tone of the old librarian and responded quickly to his taunts. That is, until he slammed the old dusty tomes before her stating that if she wished to learn anything about the Elder Scrolls, she would have to read those first.

Biting her tongue, she took both books and settled on one of the large leather padded wood chairs. Placing her pack beside her and removing her cloak, she opened the smaller one.

It had been four hours and she had not yet understood a thing about the text. It seemed to her like the words had no relation between each other and she could only read and understand a few of them. Usually, this would allow her to grasp the general theme of the document, but this one she simply could not make sense of. On the verge of desperation, she opened the second one. This one was slightly clearer; she could understand bits and pieces about degrees of knowledge and blindness. It was scary and unhelpful, yet it brightened her moral lightly to see she could at least make sense of one of the two books. She was pulled out of her thoughts by a loud snore. Urag had fallen asleep on his desk. Going by the melted wax around the candles and her stomach protesting, it was very late; she had spent her whole day trying to decipher cryptic and useless books and she was nowhere closer to stopping Alduin.

"I can't read," said the little Dunmer matter of factly effectively waking the sleeping Orc. "At least not enough to comprehend such a delicate subject," she added shortly afterward.

The old Orsimer was soon walking toward her, every trace of sleep wiped from his face. "Then what are you doing at the College, more precisely in my library? You're not trying to steal my books to light a fire are you? Damned illiterate!" he raged.

"No sir!" she exclaimed, "Even though I cannot read properly, I would never damage such precious sources of knowledge".

This matter quickly settled, Urag agreed to tell her where to go to from there. He had never seen an Elder Scroll but he knew of someone, further up North, who had. Marking the Dunmer's map with his quill, he wished her good luck and gruffly sent her away from his precious library.

After turning his drawers and chest upside down, Ralof finally grasped a little clothed package. The linen was slightly worn, but the object inside it was still in prime condition. It had served only once, a long time ago, for half a day, and yet, it was probably the most precious item his father ever possessed. It was not the material that made it so special, the simple brass chain was nothing extraordinary and the jewel's metal was not precious. Neither was it the central piece; it was quite common across Skyrim and every jeweller could produce one. It was not the turquoise stone embedded in its center. It was not either the blessing cast upon it. It was its story.

A farm girl had it commissioned at the local blacksmith. She then took it with her on the long and perilous journey to Riften and had it blessed. Coming back home, in Whiterun, she clasped it around her neck and walked to a small thatched farm. She knew she would have to endure many taunting on her way there, but she did not mind; today, she would be the happiest woman in the city. She interrupted the work of the elder boy who was, as usual, chopping wood in the nearby forest. As he caressed lightly the amulet with the tip of his gloved fingers she shivered in anticipation. "Interested in me are you?" he said with a warm smile.

Many years later, as that woman was dying, she placed the amulet in her son's hand. "Try to have more spine than your father, would you? And ask a nice girl before she does it herself".

"I'll do it mother," swore the son, years later, in the empty stone room. "I'll ask her."

The six day's worth of travel from Whiterun to Windhelm had been busy ones for Ralof. He had time to think about the little elf he had to leave, broken, in a temple as he went to report to his leader. He had ample opportunity to think about what his life would be without her by his side, about the joy he would feel to be able to call her his and him hers. Which is how he ended up searching his possessions to find his mother's amulet of Mara. As soon as he was able to, he would leave the army and he would go back to Whiterun where he would present Luthien with the amulet and hope she would accept to be his wife. He was aware that he would probably have to leave Skyrim, but he did not mind. They could go to Cyrodiil; he would stand Imperials and High Elves every day until his dying breath if it meant he could take it by Luthien's side.

In this joyous state of mind, Ralof dressed for his appearance before Jarl Ulfric and walked down to the throne room, checking one last time that his armour was pristine. He was not vain, but even if he was about to quit the Stormcloaks and did not agree with everything they stood for anymore, he would not disrespect the uniform.

Ulfric was slouched in his throne, as usual, with a bored expression on his face. At his side, stood Galmar Stone-Fist, his trusted second in command and housecarl, and Jorleif, the steward. To Ralof's surprise, the older blond man began speaking, not giving the Officer the chance to properly salute him.

"Ralof, my trusted Officer!" he said smiling. "How is Dawnstar treating you?"

Overcoming his surprise at being greeted so openly by the proud and stern-looking man, Ralof replied, "Quite good, my Jarl".

"I heard you managed to kill a Dragon", added the older man with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Could he really say that he had not done so alone? Could he imply that Luthien had been there without endangering her life? Surely, it was expected from the Dragonborn to be participating in dragon killing. Yet he had a bad feeling about it all. Never the less, he answered truthfully.

"You praise me too much, My Jarl. My man and I received very precious help from the Dragonborn." He hoped he could remain neutral enough while talking about her. After all, she would, possibly very soon, be his wife.

"The Dragonborn," added the Jarl, feigning surprise. "And where is she now?"

Feeling panic seize his insides, Ralof kept a composed face. "I do not know, My Jarl. Why would I?" he finished with an unconvincing smirk.

Ulfric was getting tired of playing with his Officer. He was standing between Skyrim and himself and he could not abide that. Suppressing the urge to Shout the man into submission, he continued.

"Lets cut to the chase, I know you frequent the Dragonborn. Therefore I wanted to ask something of you", added the proud Jarl, standing a little straighter in his stone throne. Ralof was paralyzed, rooted in place. He knew, Ulfric knew! Luthien would, no doubt, be killed now or she would be imprisoned; all because he could not protect her. The leader spoke again, his powerful and commanding voice nearly shaking the walls, "If I was to take her as my wife, you wouldn't object, right?"

"My Jarl!", said the young man, feeling his blood turn to ice in his veins. "I..."

He was losing his words. This was so unexpected he could not even begin to form a reply. There was no way he could go against his oath to Ulfric Stormcloak. He was bound to obey the man's every command and the Jarl knew it. In fact, the younger man was certain the Jarl was basking in his power. His asking was a mere formality and it enraged the Officer. Going against his wishes would be a death sentence for him and probably for Luthien, as Ulfric was not known for his magnanimity. He would have to stand by while the man who, everyone knew, despised Dunmers, robbed Luthien from him.

"Well?" said the leader, his smile gone and impatience lining his word.

Ralof could feel his blood boil inside his veins as his powerlessness dawned upon him; he could feel his heart being torn from his ribcage and his very soul screaming, yet he kept a composed face and answered in a broken though unwavering tone. Could the man not give him a few moments to form the answer that would most likely break him beyond repair?

"I would not object, my Jarl", finally managed to enunciate the distraught man.

His eyes were locked on the floor and his jaw was closed so tightly it hurt but he stood there, unmoving until his Jarl dismissed him.

"Oh, and Ralof," added the Jarl, a predatory glare in his eyes, "next time you're in Riverwood, say hi to Gerdur and Frodnar for me. I heard your nephew is quite the warrior. He could be a good Stormcloak should he live through these perilous times".

He was not quick enough in his exit for he heard the older blond man turn and say to his trusted second "Send for Maramal in Riften and that Ashborn. I want this over as soon as possible".

The Nord kept his tears from flowing freely until he reached his room. In the privacy of his quarters, he allowed them to fall. He was angry, he was furious, jealous, torn, broken, all at the same time. Through his tear-soaked despair, he rummaged through the travel pack stored beneath his bed until he found a little linen-wrapped package he had carefully placed there earlier. Clutching it tightly in his fist, he threw it in the fireplace. The flames ate through the fabric, rapidly exposing the delicate brass carvings incasing the turquoise gem. The man fell to his knees, crying, in front of the fire as the amulet of Mara melted.


	9. Chapter 9: Winterhold

Skyrim was a horrible province, thought Luthien. Every time she thought she had reached the pinnacle of cold, the harsh land proved her wrong. She had thought the windy city of Winterhold was the coldest the land could get, but the water leading to Septimus Signus' outpost was definitely colder. She swore in Dunmeri as her foot slipped for the umpteen times between the ice plates and landed in the water. Her boots, though very warm, were slowly getting dangerously cold as water treacherously soaked through the seams. Luckily, she could see an old wooden door leading inside what looked like an ice mountain. "Nobody in his or her right mind would decide to live inside a ice block", she thought. Though, if the incomprehensible book was any hint, the man she was about to meet was surely anything but in his right mind.

As soon as she pushed the door and stepped inside the frozen cave, she was greeted with incomprehensible mumblings. Following the corridor, she reached the main cave and was greeted with an unusual sight. The cave was almost completely occupied by what looked like a huge bronze cube. Golden, it shimmered in the vacillating torchlight. There was something that looked like a lock decorated with enormous turquoise gems imbedded in the intricate contraption. Facing the impressive cube was a relatively thin Imperial man dressed in a black Mage robe. Finally noticing her as she walked toward him, he greeted her.

"Touched by the Gods", she thought as soon as he started talking. His speech was hurried and imprecise which made it very difficult to understand. Apparently, the old man had been away from civilization for so long and wrapped in this world of research only he could understand that he could no fathom the newcomer incomprehension. He kept getting angry when she seemed lost in his explanations and repeated the very same thing, only louder. Seeing him rambling about while walking in a disorganized fashion around the room, she could not help but be reminded of her mother. She camped for the night in the ice cavern. The fire burning weakly in the cast iron pot did very little to warm her exhausted body, but after the long trip to Winterhold and the perilous walk on the frozen sea, her newly healed body couldn't take another walk in the harsh climate of Skyrim without a proper night of sleep. As she shivered in the night, she dreamt of the life she had left in Cyrodiil what seemed like ages ago.

"Mutii", she called in the dark shack. "Mutii, I'm hungry".

Receiving no answer, she stood up from the moldy mattress she was previously sleeping on and patted the ground around her to find a candle. Clutching the mostly melted piece of wax in her left hand, she called the fire to her right hand, effectively igniting the remaining wick. In the dim and flickering light, she could see her mother lying form in the opposite corner of the room. As was often the case, she was seemingly sleeping; eyes wide open with an empty Skooma bottle in the hand. Even in her sleep, she kept mumbling nonsense about the End of Time and a World Eater. As unnatural as it seemed, this was the only way the Dunmer woman could get a half-decent night of sleep. When she could not get her hands on a vial of the vicious drug, she would thrash and scream throughout the night as the visions tormented her. During her wakeful moments, she would go on about calamities to come, wailing when nobody neither believed nor understood her.

Even at the tender age of six, little Luthien knew she would not get anything out of her mother in that state. Her empty belly rumbling, she picked up the ragged blanket on her mattress and laid it on her mother's shoulders before slipping out of the shack unto the Waterfront.

The sun was barely rising above the horizon, its dull pale light filtering through the morning mist. Hopefully, she could reach the Eight's Plaza before the bakery opened. That way, maybe, she could beg for something to eat. The Argonian baker and his wife were often offering the unevenly cooked or overbaked pastries and bread loaves to the many beggars of the city. The couple had no children and the woman was very fond of Luthien, going as far as to hand her a perfectly good pastry right from the counter when her husband was not looking.

Holding half a loaf of bread tightly clutched against her bony ribcage, Luthien ran toward the decrepit temple of Akatosh. It had been destroyed according to the legend, in a terrible battle against Mehrunes Dagon as the Deadra stomped on its stone dome to crush Tamriel's last hope, the last heir of the Septim bloodline. Her Altmutii, an elderly and wrinkled Dunmer woman who lived in the temple despite the guards' frequent interventions to get her out, told her about it. According to her storytelling, an Imperial priest had transformed into the Divine Dragon and battled the Dreadra, saving the world. In her child's mind, she couldn't understand why her Altmutii's voice cracked every time she talked about that priest she sometimes called Martin. Neither could she understand why her mother's eyes were blue instead of red as her grandmother's.

The old woman had seen a lot in her two and a half centuries of life. Her story would have brought more than one to tears, but she had sworn never to tell anyone, not even her granddaughter.

Her life had truly begun at the young age of fifty-seven when she had met her one true love, Martin, in the midst of utter destruction and pain. He had been taken away from her a year after their encounter as he became one with Akatosh. Broken and pregnant, she had sought the help of the Blades. Unwilling to deal with the Dunmer bastard child of an illegitimate heir in the chaos that followed the Oblivion crisis, Jauffre, the leader of the Blades, had sent her away. She had turned to the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves' Guild hoping to fill the void left by Martin's untimely demise. She finally left everything to take care of her daughter, plagued by the Sight. For nearly two hundred years, she had lived in opulence desperately trying to find a cure for her tormented daughter. Her daughter had found the dangerous cure herself in Skooma. As any good mother would have, she had tried to get her to quit, but her pained cries in the night and the visions getting worst had gotten the best of her. Then, there had been the Great War. She had been called to fight and had refused to partake, explaining that even though her daughter was nearly two hundred years old, she could not take care of herself given her mental state. Her properties had been seized "to compensate for the loss her refusal would cause the Empire" and she had been declared enemy of the state. Thus had fallen the mighty Champion of Cyrodiil. Her only regret in this ordeal was that her granddaughter, the bastard child of a Skooma dealer, would have to grow up on the streets.

She had been a great mage in her youth, specializing in conjuration and she was therefore able to teach her precious Luthien the basic runes of spell reading as well as Dunmeri, both spoken and written. Given the precariousness of their living situation, she had not been able to do more. The little one was very clever and learned quickly, but when the body was starving, the mind could only do so much.

As usual, her Altmutii was sitting on the temple pavement. Sometime, she would wander in the city, but if Luthien waited in the temple for a few hours, she would always be back. The old lady had always been there for her and she had grown very attached to her. When Luthien was just a baby, she would feed her and rock her to sleep either when her mother's visions got too bad or when she was high on Skooma.

Unlike many others in the Waterfront, Altmutii would never call her Mutii "mad"; she always said, "Touched by the Gods". According to her, she had the same visions her father's father had. She could foresee the future in her dreams but the art of interpreting the dreams had been lost with the death of Emperor Uriel Septim VII, which explained why they plagued her relentlessly.

"Altmutii", shouted Luthien as she ran inside the temple. "Look what I've got", she said proudly holding the loaf of bread.

The old woman smiled seeing her granddaughter running toward her. Luthien always came to share her loot when she was in the city. They ate the food together while the elder woman told her stories about times long since passed. After their meager lunch, little Luthien walked about the city's richest districts where she begged for food and money. There were very few people who were immune to her large wet white eyes and emaciated figure, therefore she was normally successful enough to provide a decent supper for both her Altmutii, her Mutii and herself. When the sun began to disappear over the city tall white walls, she went back to the temple where she met with her Altmutii who accompanied the energetic little girl back to the Waterfront and her mother. Hopefully, by then, the blue-eyed Dunmer had managed to get her hands on another Skooma vial and they were able to get something to eat.

The twenty years old Luthien cried as she held the cold wrinkled hand in hers. Her Altmutii's crimson eyes had closed for the last time moments ago and she was now alone in the world. She had found her mother dead, about six years ago, in the derelict shack they shared on the Waterfront. Somehow, she had managed to get her hands on more Skooma than usual and, probably in a desperate attempt to banish the visions for good, had taken more of the vile mixture than her frail body could tolerate. Her Altmutii had come to live with her then. Her daughter's death, even though she had lived nearly two centuries, had been hard on the two hundred and fifty-some years old woman and she was glad to have her granddaughter to look out for her. In her last year on the Waterfront, she didn't even have the strength to take her daily walk to the temple of Akatosh.

At dusk, Luthien had finally emerged for the shack, her eyes swollen, her cheeks covered in dirty, salty trails. Looking toward the harbour and the large white sails neatly tucked close to their proud masts, she had made her decision. There was nothing holding her back to Cyrodiil. She could be free and sail away with the boats. She could make a new life for herself far away from the misery she had always known.

With a heart heavy, she wrapped her Altmutii cold body in the least tattered blanket she could find. Placing a few flax flowers above her heart she packed any dry or wooden furniture she could find around the mattress the old Dunmer was laid on and called the fire to her hands. She watched as the shack caught fire, allowing her Altmutii to go back to the ashes she had come from and erasing her old life in an acrid cloud of smoke.

She woke up with dried tears on her cheeks to a dying fire. Feeling slightly rested, she ate a quick lunch of bread and cheese with the still rambling old man. If memory served, he had been up when she had gone to sleep and was already back to his research when she woke up from her short night.

The journey to Alftand had been exhausting. Walking through the Northern region of Skyrim in the middle of the cold season was not an easy endeavour for a Cyrodiil raised Dunmer. Luthien could feel her legs shaking beneath her, the muscles utterly drained from walking through the never-ending white Void. A few hours after her departure, the nastiest snowstorm she had ever witnessed swept the land in its deadly cold embrace, awakening the ice Wraiths. She had to battle one of these angry creatures and had nearly lost her life in the process. Its razor-sharp scales were incredibly painful and surprisingly effective at cutting through armour. She was clearly not back to her prime condition and could not fight or crouch as she had learned with Faendal. Her shoulders were stiff and her back hurt something fierce thus preventing her from using her bow to the best of her abilities. She had also sustained a massive blood loss during her near-death experience with the Dragon that sapped her stamina and strength. Walking briskly left her out of breath, which meant she had very little strength left when she met an enemy. Hopefully, the weather seemed to be bad enough to repel Dragons, as she encountered none during her travel.

She arrived at Alftand around dusk, exhausted. She summarily scoped the camp before settling in for the night. With walls around her, she was protected from the nasty wind, which offered a much-needed respite after the two days spent thigh-deep in the heavy snow.

After his heartbreaking encounter with Jarl Ulfric, Ralof had left the city. He did not care that maybe the Jarl had other matters do discuss with him and wanted nothing more than to go back to his post, drown his sorrows in ale, and bury himself in work. He felt like the world was spinning madly around him while he was stuck in a forever lost past contemplating a future that would never be. Plunging his large hand inside the bag he was carrying, he pulled out a small, round, black object.

The amulet his mother had left him had been destroyed during his outburst after the encounter with the Jarl. The next morning though, Ralof had been a little bit more aware and had sorely regretted his rash decision. This is why he had kneeled in the soot for nearly half an hour desperately looking for any remnant of the jewel. His blacked hand had finally picked up a small-engraved stone. What had once been a pale turquoise delicately carved was now not much more than charcoal, yet it gave the man hope. If the jewel had survived the blazing ember, maybe they could pull through. After all, if Luthien was able to slay a dragon singlehandedly, everything seemed possible.

He understood now that his posting to Dawnstar had been a way to keep him from seeing his beloved little elf. In the nigh eternal winter the city was stuck in, it was highly improbable that the little Dunmer would visit him. Improbable as it might be, she had already visited him once, which gave him hope.

As soon as he stepped down from the carriage, the Officer made his way to the Jarl Longhouse.

"Greetings Officer", said the old Jarl. Being a Stormcloak Officer, Ralof was one of the few to be in the good grace of the arrogant and fanatic leader.

"My Jarl", replied the younger man, bowing respectfully.

"I thought you were due to return earlier to your post", said Jarl Skald.

"I was", answered the warrior, "but I was summoned by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak". He said the name with his jaw painfully clenched to hide the anger and disgust he felt for the man. The old Jarl of Dawnstar was zealously patriotic and for the favour Ralof was about to ask, he could not afford to look like he disrespected the revered leader of the Stormcloak.

After exchanging news about the city, Ralof finally breached the subject that had him visiting the Jarl so quickly after arriving in town.

"My Jarl, I was wondering if I could possibly purchase a property on your land", said the blond man.

"Well… that is unfortunate, young man, but there are no houses to sell in Dawnstar", replied the man, seemingly pained he could not offer what a Stormcloak asked of him.

Ralof was about to take his leave when the Jarl spoke again. "If you were interested though, there is an available parcel of land I was keeping for an eventual Thane. You defended our city against a dragon, if you cannot be worthy of the title, I cannot see who could be".

"I would very much like to acquire that land my Jarl", said the young man, trying to hide his happiness.

"If you could rid the Red Road Pass of the giant that has been creating mayhem, I could name you Thane of Dawnstar and even my worthless court could not object!"

"It will be done my Jarl", replied Ralof solemnly.

The next morning, he left the town with four guards. He was back before nightfall with the head of the giant in a jute bag and only minor wounds to report. Three days and 5000 Septims later, he was setting foot for the first time in Heljarchen Hall. Even though it was a desolated, snowy land, he could already see a house, a home, built on it. He would build it with the heaviest wood and the strongest rock. He would make the walls thick to keep the cold wind out and the warmth on the hearth inside. He could already see a small pen to the left where he could keep some chickens. If he allowed himself to hope beyond his wildest dreams, he could even picture a nice room on the side for his kids to grow up in. Heavy tears blurred his visions as he noticed his imaginary kids had dark grey skin and tousled feathery white hair. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he grasped the heavy pickaxe hanging on his belt and started to work. It was a fool's hope, but he needed it to keep going.

"Where is she", fumed Ulfric.

"We do not know my Jarl, she isn't in the cities", replied the courier. "We've searched every nook and crannies. She seems to have disappeared from Nirn".

"It's not like she can wander the wilderness! She's weak and pathetic, and unfortunately essential!" Raged the Jarl, the veins on his temples bulging with anger. "Keep looking", he barked at the poor man standing before him while standing and walking briskly to the War Room.

"The war is at a stalemate for the moment. As weak and detestable as she may be, she will play a crucial role in how the balance tips. We need her now Galmar!" screamed the furious Jarl.

Patient as always with his ill-tempered friend, Galmar did not retort. He knew better than to try, so he let his friend unwind before attempting any kind of conversation. After a few minutes of loud vociferations, Ulfric finally settled down. Many would have still been deterred by his ragged breath, ferocious glare, and red face but the old housecarl knew better.

"What is it Ulfric?" asked the man while dismissing the steward and guards with a wave of his hand.

Avoiding his best friend's eyes by looking at his boots, the proud Jarl respond in a voice barely recognizable. "I love Skyrim Galmar, and I mean LOVE her. And if taking her as High King requires me to marry an Ashborn so be it. But the idea repulses me to no end, and I want it to be over as quickly as possible".

"What will happen if she refuses you?" asked Galmar. He knew his friend was not the kind of man to tolerate no as an answer, yet in a marriage, even arranged, using coercion was generally a bad idea.

Cold and calm as ice, the Jarl responded, "Nobody says no to me".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dunmeri word Mutii (mother) and Altmutii (grand-mother) are purely fictional and are not accurate/do not exist in The Elder Scrolls' lore.


	10. Chapter 10: Blackreach

Day One

Luthien woke up late in the morning. She had not been troubled by nightmares and the small fire she had dared to light inside the wooden cabin had done a great job at heating her fur bedroll. Feeling rested for the first time since Riverwood she decided to look around for a bit. If there was a cabin standing, there might also be food hidden somewhere; this would allow her to spare her dried rations in case the ruin delving proved to be more eventful than originally planned.

She came back to the dying ember of her fire with a frozen rabbit leg and a piece of bread. She had also found a journal. Probably from an expedition, she had thought. It would be an undeniable advantage to know what to expect down in the ruins, so she placed the meat on the embers and sat on her fur roll. It would take a while for the meat to cook, so she could attempt to decipher the small red book. She was very grateful for the modest amount of text contained on the yellowed pages. The list of names was also easy to read, as she did not have to spend time on deciphering useless detail, it summarized the essential. She would have to watch out for seven members of the expedition who would most likely perceive her presence as intrusive, if not outright hostile. While eating the rabbit leg, she made sure her bag was properly packed to avoid turning the explorers' attention to her intrusion with noisy clanking.

Seeing the impressive stone structure, standing fast since time immemorial, one would have expected it to be at least a bit more impervious to the snow! Even shielded from the outside's wind, her breath still came out as delicate white cloud and she had to mind her footing least she found herself falling on the icy floor. In the heavy silence, she could hear someone's vociferations. Going by the pitch of the voice, she knew to expect one of the Kajiit brothers, maybe even both, as there seemed to be quite a heated argument going on. She could also hear a rhythmic clacking noise coming from a dark corner of the room. It sounded much like someone sparring with a stone wall, which would have been completely foolish, as it would damage the blade beyond repair.

As she entered the somber ruin, she had pondered over the necessity of lighting a torch to find her way in the stone maze and the danger of doing so, as it made her ten times more noticeable to the seven explorers and any other inhabitant of the ruins she wanted to avoid. In the end, she had opted against it. She was not at her best with the blood loss and the still tender new flesh so increasing her chances of a fight was not to her advantage. On the other hand, she was naturally sneaky, especially in the dark, where she blended like a shadow.

Stepping silently on the stone pavement, her senses becoming attuned to the semi-darkness surrounding her, she was able to see the creature, the thing, responsible for the clicking noise. It looked like a spider because of its general morphology, but it was not alive. The thick yet ornamented metal plates were moving on their own, seemingly driven by some artificial life force. The creature had yet to notice her, too busy as it was madly scraping the wall. Slowly and noiselessly, Luthien pulled her Orcish bow from the harness on her back. Notching an arrow, she took a long steady breath while pulling the string. Making sure the bow was bent to its limit, fingers aligned with her jaw, she let the steel arrow fly toward her target.

"Damn those Dwemers to the Void!" swore Luthien as the pulled the steel dagger from its sheath. She would have to thank Frodnar, and Hod too, for it if she made it out alive.

The metallic spider was running toward her, its pointy legs clanking on the stone floor. Luthien could feel the panic rising in her heart; she could not see any living tissue in the creature and thus had no idea where to stab it. Its golden-brown shell had already deflected three arrows and it kept on coming. Seeing the creature was about to jump on her, she crouched and slashed blindly, turning her head to the side to avoid the dagger-like legs. Upon impact, the spider exploded, raining metal pieces on the stone floor. Through the dead empty halls, the echo resonated for a few seconds. Still a bit shaken, Luthien stood up to assess the damage. She was not wounded, which was a good thing, but her left bracer, the one she had used to shield herself from the vicious automaton, was almost ruined. A spider leg had made contact with it and slashed through the thick leather, nearly piercing it. The little Dunmer shivered at the thought that, had she not worn that piece of armour, she would most likely have lost her arm. From the corner of her eye, she saw something shimmer in the low light of the room. Stuck in the debris of the mechanical spider was a large amethyst. She had only ever held such valuable goods while on errands for the Hooded Man on the Waterfront. Hardly believing her luck, she pocketed the gem and continued her progression through the deserted halls.

Day Three

For once in her life, it seemed luck was on her side! The remaining two members of the expedition were fighting amongst themselves. When it was in her favour, she thought, greed was a marvelous thing. In the end, she was left with a fatally wounded man bleeding on the ground and the still-warm corpse of the Redguard woman. Notching an arrow, she granted the man a merciful and quick death and proceeded to the receptacle in the middle of the room. It seemed the little ornate ball Septimus had given her was, in fact, an intricate key. As soon as it was properly inserted in the pedestal, it clicked and turned on itself and revealed hidden stairs. Luthien felt relieved. She was surely close to the Scroll now and hopefully, she would reach it before running out of dried rations.

Day Eight

The cave she was now lost in had, at first, been a source of awe for the little Dunmer. She had never seen anything so magnificent. The entire ceiling was covered in shimmering gems, which granted the room a mystical atmosphere and giant mushrooms provided a soft eerie light. As far as her elven eyes could see, the cave did not communicate with the outside world. There was no snow, no birds, and no wind. As a matter of fact, there was almost no sound except for the far-away murmur of a stream. The air was dry unlike most caves she had visited and the temperature was quite mild, verging on hot. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel like she was back in the Imperial City Waterfront during a summer day. The illusion was very soon broken when a Dwemer soldier rolled toward her. She had encountered tree of theses abominations in the ruins and they now plagued her nightmare along with Alduin and his acolytes. The first time, she owed her survival to a puddle of oil on the ground. She next, she owed it to luck and a well-placed trapdoor on the floor. This time though, she could not see anything she could turn to her advantage. She retreated up to a small stone house while turning every once in a while to fire an arrow. The wretched metal soldier managed to slash her twice with his broadsword before the could push the old rusty door open before slipping inside and slamming it shut behind her. She mechanical monster ran into the door a few times, then, as it was unsuccessful at prying it open, rolled away silently leaving Luthien panting against the cold ornate metal.

A macabre scene greeted her. A skeleton lay on the bed, empty potion vials surrounding it. According to the amount of dried blood around it, it had died from its wounds before it could ingest enough of the red healing potion. She could not stop a wave of panic from surging inside her. She was wounded too! Her right flank and left shoulder stung fiercely from the terrifying automaton's blows and she had still to fully recover from the previous encounters with mechanical spiders, rotten impish creatures, and huge tar-black acid-spitting insects. That was without taking into consideration the blood loss and previous injuries from her nearly fatal encounter with the Dragon. She was going to die here too. She would never again see the sky, feel the wind and sun on her face; never again would her be able to hug, kiss, and love Ralof.

"Ralof", she cried as she slid against the door, her hands gripping her hair in desperation. As she reached the ground, her forehead came to rest on her knees as she cried in despair.

She cast a healing spell, hoping the feeling of her flesh knitting back together would cheer her up. She was relieved to feel the pain recede, but she, overall, felt no better than before regarding her situation. As she saw it, she was doomed to hide in the stone room until her ration completely ran out and she was forced by starvation to risk going outside or she could make a run for it now and die in atrocious pain from the large broadsword wielding soldier.

She would have given anything to have her strong lover here with her. She knew she was supposed to be fierce and mighty as a Dragonborn was expected to be, but how could she when the powers she had began to rely on failed her. The metal soldiers had resisted even her strongest unrelenting force shout! She felt so powerless.

Had she been born in a wealthier family, she would probably have been tempted to stay inside and face hunger rather than try her luck outside. However, she knew hunger. She knew intimately the suffering it brought and she would do anything in her power to triumph against it. It was in this mindset that she cracked the door open and took a peek at the deadly contraption patrolling outside. It had not seen the slight movement of the door and she decided to use this to her advantage. Notching an arrow, she aimed at the articulated shoulder holding the blade. Holding her breath to steady her arm, she hoped it would be enough to cripple the masterfully crafted killing machine. She exhaled as she released the arrow and immediately closed the door, sliding once more against it. She could feel her heart race in her chest as she heard the metal grate against the sand and stone floor. It was close, extremely close to the door; she could feel it. It went away before rolling toward her hiding spot again. It did not try to force the door this time and went back to its patrolling rounds. Luthien decided to risk another peek through the door. She was not so lucky this time and the machine soldier turned toward her, steaming. She barely had the time to release an arrow through the small opening she had created before slamming the door shut once more. She pushed against the metal door with all her might as the Dwemer nightmare ran into it in hope of reaching the intruder. It had done so without raising its sword arm had noted Luthien with a mix of pride and relief. The same pattern repeated itself a few times until the arrows finally damaged the contraption enough to make it fall apart. Invigorated by her victory, the elf started to walk to the nearest tower. Deprived of both the stars and the rising sun, she had no way of knowing where the North was and therefore had no idea which was the right direction to go to. Despite her hunger, she tried not to think about food. After all, the week's worth of food she had started the expedition with was almost out and she had not found anything edible in the ruins. Water was luckily not a problem; despite the warm, dry climate of the cave, it contained many streams and crystal clear ponds.

Day Eleven

She clumsily climbed down the rocky ledge to reach the water and nearly fell in it has her grip weakened. It had been probably thirty hours since her last meager meal and she was famished. The tar-like insect she had slain back then had been nearly poisonous. Even after thoroughly cooking the meat and hard shell, she had still been riddled with cramps and nausea for the remainder of the day without feeling anymore sated than before. The eggs had proven to be an equal deception. Had she been topside with a full stomach and a fully functioning brain she would have been delighted to find an ingredient that could make her invisible. For the moment though, it held no interest. She had even tried her luck with the glowing mushrooms adorning the cave but they were hard as a rock and could not be consumed. The red glowing leaves she had harvested near a stagnant pond had also proven to be toxic. The entire cave seemed to wish her dead!

Maybe, if she drank a full skin of water she could trick her belly into believing it was full for a few minutes and could maybe think with a less clouded brain about the next step to get out of this cave. It was fairly easy to spot the towers in the cave. The problem was to reach said tower. Every turn hid a malevolent creature ready to cut her into pieces. She had even encountered a mechanical colossus along the road. Luckily, it seemed it had not been awoken by her arrival in the cave and it stood, immobile in its metal cage.

She also needed to mend her armour. The leather was torn in many places, generally with a corresponding fresh scar on the skin below. She kept on getting attacked by theses imps lurking in the dark. Had it not been for their pet insects she would have been able to evade them as they seemed to be blind and she was naturally silent when moving, but the enormous shelled monsters seemed to have acute sense of smell and sight and kept on informing their masters of her whereabouts.

Day Twenty-one

She chewed on the meat mechanically, but days ago it had not been so. Like through a shredded veil, she could remember bits and pieces. She had just cleared a tower full of impish creatures. Her legs and arms were shaking from exertion. She had run out of arrows the week before, or maybe more, she could not quite recall. Anyways, without the sun, moons or stars there was no definite way of knowing. She had begun using the darkness inhabitant's arrows, which were more glorified twigs than proper weapons. Sometimes, the wood was so crudely cut it flew at an angle and missed the target by a few meters even at close range. Despite the powerful Dwemer bow she had discovered in the ruins, she could not properly defend herself with theses useless arrows. She had resorted to using a crude sword she had looted from one of the rotten creatures. It was heavier than her bow but at least she was sure it would strike the enemy. As she dragged herself to the top terrace, she ended up face to face with yet another sinewy creature. As it ran close enough, she slashed toward it. She was not even aiming; her body was reacting instinctively to a threat. That was all. The blow must have severed an artery because blood spurted on her face. As it dripped on her cracked lips, she mechanically licked it. It tasted like copper, much like her own. Falling to her knees before the dead creature, she dipped her fingers in the pooled blood on the tiled floor. Tentatively putting the carmine coated fingers to her mouth she sighed in relief as the substance touched her tongue. Somewhere on the less primitive layers of her brain, something ticked and she gagged. Despite this, the desperation of starvation overruled the protest, and not unlike a scavenger, she crawled on top of the warm carcass and took her first bite. It was not long before her actions fully registered and she started throwing up. Crawling as far away from the corpse as she could, she balled herself up and fell in a nearly comatose sleep.

When she had woken up, weak and trembling, she had built a fire. The cooked meat was easier to digest.

Day Thirty-three

She cried as she reached the final room. Tears of joy, of disgust, of anger all mixed on her grimy cheeks. Of course, the room itself had to be yet another puzzle and the stupid, Gods-forsaken, useless, dead scholar had to have written his journal, no doubt containing the key to unlocking the Scroll's safe, in some sort of Nord dialect. Were there no Gods or were they really that cruel? Kicking the dusty, moldy journal with all her strength, the desperate Dunmer ran toward the promontory. From there, she could see the whole room with the polished opals and intricate metal contraptions. Since Septimus' trinket had been the key to unlocking the first complex lock, she placed the cube in the receptacle. It glowed an eerie shade of turquoise before unlocking what looked like a jewelled amulet. Annoyed that it did not open directly the Scroll's safe, she pressed spitefully on the button. The vaulted ceiling moved to allow what looked like sunlight in the room. The elf laughed almost hysterically as the light briefly touched her skin. After seeing nothing but glowing mushrooms for nearly a month, even filtered sunlight was a delight. She kept pushing the button until it unlocked the next one. She swore to herself for the umpteen time, that if she ever saw a Dwemer, she would punch him in the face for every ridiculously complex and deadly contraption their race had ever built.

When the central piece finally lowered itself to the ground in a graceful manner and revealed the precious Scroll, Luthien fell to her knees. It was over. She could leave this wretched place and never come back. She could go back to Paarthurnax and proudly present him with the final piece of the puzzle. She would be able to fight Alduin with equal weapons. For the first time since the beginning of this ordeal, she finally saw a way out. She stood a chance against the World Eater.

It had been weeks, thirty-six days to be exact, since the Dragonborn had disappeared from the face on Nirn. Ralof had received three letters from Ulfric demanding to know the whereabouts of the little Dunmer. Finally, a messenger had arrived in Dawnstar's tavern and informed the terrified civilians that the Dragonborn was believed to be dead. Since that dreadful day, it had been panic everywhere in the province. People were talking about the End of Time and some of the most desperate were packing to leave the land. All hope seemed to have gone with the Dragonborn. There were some mean tongues that insinuated that this was what the Gods got by entrusting such powers in a lesser race but Ralof paid them no mind. He could not. He had lost Luthien for the second time in a matter of weeks and his already broken heart could hardly withstand the news. For a week, he had kept on appearances and continued to manage the Dawnstar garrison but in the end, he had asked for some personal time off and gone back to Heljarchen Hall.

Over the weeks, he had managed to spend a considerable amount of time on it and it showed. The little house stood proudly on the frozen land, ice adorning its brand new cornices. Not unlike the first time he had set foot on the land, he was heartbroken. The difference was, this time he felt no hope, no dreams blooming in his chest to dull the pain. Unlike many others who still believed the precious and mighty Dragonborn would come back, he knew the petite woman, girl really, hidden beneath the title. He had held her in his arms as she trashed in the night, plagued by her fears. Most of all, he had seen her body, broken nearly beyond repair, the thin broken ribs protruding from the torn flesh... She had been saved once and he knew better than to hope for a second miracle.

Day Thirty-seven

In the snowstorm, all he could see was a silhouette advancing toward him. Even at First Seed, there was still heavy snowfall in that part of the province. It was quite the opposite from Riverwood, but that, Ralof tried to ignore. Thinking of his hometown always led him to think of better times that included his time with Luthien. Thinking of her was too painful; even if by some miracle she was still alive, she could never be his and he would have to see her married to the man he had come to despise even more than the Thalmor. The Jarl would treat her like a thing, a dog at best; she would be miserable.

The person was still approaching and despite the lack of evident hostile intent Ralof was not at ease. "Coming from the mountain", he thought as he tightened his grip on the axe's wooden handle. "No one worth knowing could possibly be coming from that side especially in that weather". His house was small and devoid of any valuables, yet it was his and he would defend it against any bandit foolish enough to try to claim it.

Through the frozen veil, he could see the shape of a bow and a big one. "One of those fancy Dwemer ones", he thought bitterly. He knew he would have to be more careful. These bows dealt a lot more damage with one single arrow than the average Imperial one. Plus, any archer willing to spend that much money on his weapon was most likely quite deadly. In his twenties he would have been able to dodge almost any arrow, but now, well into his thirty-fifth year, his agility was not what it had once been. In training, he had sacrificed it for brute force, as was the case for many Nords. The intruder, most likely a Bosmer going by its frame, was about thirty paces away now, which was close enough he decided.

"That's close enough", he barked as a warning, lifting the axe for the newcomer to see.

Expecting a fight, he was surprised to see the blurry shape stop its progression. Seeing as it was not moving anymore, he risked a few steps toward it.

"What is your business here?" He asked it a less intimidating voice. His only answer was the dull thud of the stranger falling face first in the snow.

As he reached the fallen archer he was a bit confused. The person had obviously been walking for quite some time in the blizzard. The many layers of cloth and crudely patched leather armour wrapped around its body were almost frozen solid. From a quick first look, he could not see any indicator of a recent attack. The tattered armour was covered in dried blood, oil, and a dark blue substance he could not quite identify. As disgusted as he was by the traveler's appearance, he could not resolve himself to leave him to freeze outside. Giving the intruder a small nudge with his boot to be sure he was really unconscious, he slipped the axe through his belt and lifted the body over his shoulder.

He pushed the door open with his free hand and was greeted by the warmth of a bright fire. The house being small had its advantages; one of them being it was very easy to keep warm and comfortable. Warmth and insulation had been his chief concern when he had begun building the house. Now though, it was a painful reminder of a forever-lost future.

Not willing to ruin his fur bed for a perfect stranger, he lowered the inert body on the stone floor next to the hearth and disposed of his axe, carefully leaving it within reach should the traveler prove to be aggressive once awake. Carefully he began to unwrap the figure in front of him, deciding to remove the armour forst in hope of finding the wound that would have caused the traveler to faint. The damaged leather pants were damp, caked in blood, and stuck to the poor lad's skin. It looked as if the adventurer had served as a practice dummy for quite some time. As the layers were removed, the strong Nord realized the man was, in fact, a woman. Somehow this detail made him even more sympathetic toward her misfortune. The skin was a dull grey tone suggesting a sick Dark Elf and not a Bosmer, yet there was no fresh wound. Through the thin, tattered underclothes he could see numerous gruesome scars. Finally, as he unwrapped the last threadbare layers of cloth wrapped in a makeshift balaclava, he felt his heart catch in his throat. Though it was dirty nearly beyond recognition, he would have known that white hair amongst a thousand others. His hands shook and tears of joy, disbelief, and relief rolled on his cheeks as he discovered the traits of his beloved Luthien. She was emaciated beyond belief and dirtier than a Forsworn but she was there, breathing shallowly on the floor of the house he had built for her. Immediately, he went to the weapon rack and grabbed a dagger. The blade easily cut through the final layers of tattered cloth surrounding his dear friend. The leather armour she usually donned was torn beyond repair. Yet, it paled in comparison to the state of her skin.

Being a soldier Ralof that seen his fair share of battle wounds. Maces and poisoned arrows left the worst scars. Their healing took time and the damage beneath the surface was often fatal. Despite having seen a lot, nothing could have prepared Ralof for the sight he exposed while removing the final layer of cloth. He had not seen Luthien since her nearly fatal encounter with the Dragon in Riverwood and he was thus confronted for the first time with his lover's mangled body. The scarred skin pulled on the bones by weeks of starvation made her suffering both past and present even more apparent.

"Oh, Luthien!" He whispered, before grabbing the warmest fur he could find and wrapping it around her naked, emaciated form. He carried her lovingly to his bed and set a small pot of water to warm over the fire. While waiting for the water, he searched the place for something that could serve as a washcloth and bandages. He managed to find a weak healing potion and a slightly stronger stamina one. He had not really had either the time or the energy to settle completely in the newly-built house and he ended up tearing an old shirt of his to make do. He quickly made his way to the bed and kneeled next to the little elf. Lifting her head lovingly, he poured the pink and green liquid drop after drop through the cracked lips.

Once the water was heated he washed her thoroughly all the while taking care to expose only the minimal amount of skin to the air of the house. Afterward, he stripped to his underclothes and lain beside her. This time, the bed was large enough to accommodate the both of them comfortably but he brought her to him anyhow and wrapped them both in the thick furs and blankets. Hopefully, he would warm her up quickly and she would regain consciousness. He woke up as the sun was disappearing on the horizon. The snowfall had ceased and the sky was as clear and beautiful as it was cold outside.

She woke up to the smell of stew, freshly sawn wood, and fire. She felt warmer than she had ever felt since her arrival in Skyrim. Unlike the dead warmth of the cave, it was a dry and sweet warmth. Fearing the pleasant dream would end as soon as she opened her eyes, she kept them closed and enjoyed the feeling of fur against her sore body. When a warm hand caressed her cheek lovingly she almost cried and her breath caught in her throat.

"Wake up love", said a well-known deep voice.

"Ralof", she wept, desperately keeping her eyes closed. She had cried for him almost every night in that cave, her mind was truly playing cruel tricks on her.

The feel of wet salty lips lightly pressed upon her own finally did it and she fully woke.

"I've gone mad, haven't I", she asked in a wavering voice. "I'm still trapped in that wretched cave".

He could feel panic rising in his little Dunmer's tone. Trying to sound calm and reassuring he answered while bowing over her so their gaze met "You are not. You're at my house near Dawnstar. You came from the mountain a few hours ago in the snowstorm". For good measure, he added, "You're safe love".

"Hold me", she pleaded as he was putting a little more space between them. Seeing the desperation in her eyes, he could not refuse her.

Deep down, he knew this would have to stop for, as soon as she made a public appearance, Ulfric's men would take her away to be wed but meanwhile, he was content to hold her close and place kisses on her hair despite the dirt and gore that stuck to it. He could see her forces dwindling quickly and therefore, despite her protests, he disentangled himself from her hold and grabbed them both a large bowl of venison stew. She ate voraciously in the bed with him watching over her. He debated handing her another bowl as soon as hers was finished as he swore he could see tears rolling down her cheeks as she ate. He knew too much food after starving for so long could prove fatal. She finished the steaming bowl and when he came back with warm milk for her to drink he saw that she had fallen asleep.


	11. Chapter 11: Heljarchen Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit

It had been three days since her return and Ralof was nervous. His little elf was closed on herself as tightly as a clam. She answered in monosyllables to his questions, when she answered at all, looked at everything with apprehension, and jumped at the softest sound. That look, he had already seen it in broken soldiers that had seen or been forced to perform atrocities in the line of duty. He knew lots of them never truly came back from that state even with the help of the healers and priests; the mind could only take so much. He had been forced to sleep on the floor since she came back for she would jump at his every touch in the night. She had even ended up straddling him with a dagger pressed to his throat once after he had pulled her toward him in his sleep. Of course, he did not let her fight the nightmares alone and he went to see her every time she trashed in the bed or woke up screaming. He simply went with his chainmail vest on.

She wept in his arms as he held her. He could not understand what she was saying but it sounded like a Dunmeri prayer to Azura.

"Luthien love, what happened to you in that cave", whispered the blond man in her ear.

She could feel her insides turn to ice as the memory from that place came flooding back. She was about to start reliving the fear and desperation she had endured in that Gods forsaken place but the warm touch of her lover grounded her in the present. She was safe; there was no automaton, no insect and most of all no imp. She had just had a bowl of soup, a cup of milk and she could smell the remaining food stored in the cupboard; she would not starve, she would not have to resort to the vilest behaviours to stay alive.

"Love?"

The deep rich voice broke her line of thought and she answered truthfully but evasively, "I survived". She was not ready to admit that she had been forced to feed on the flesh of her enemies. Most of all, she was not ready to admit to herself that theses creature were too close to elves to truly be called beasts.

The next morning, when he woke up, she was not in bed. He quickly looked around the house before barging outside in his night pants. He could smell fire in the air. His mind immediately jumped to the horrible day of the dragon attack; how smell of burnt wood lingered in the air even after the creature had been slain.

"Luthien", he called mad with fear.

Running around the house in the light snowfall he spotted her near a small pyre. There was no Dragon in sight and she was in one of his shirts that served as her nightgown, barefoot in the thin blanket of snow. Obviously she did not wish to acknowledge his presence as she murmured a few words before throwing dried flowers in the flames. Nestled between the flames, he could discern the tattered remains of her leather armour. He knew very little of the Dunmeri traditions, yet he could see this was some sort of religious burial, a little bit of closure he thought.

He could see her shivering in the pale snow despite the fire burning, her breath coming out of her lips as a white mist. She looked so frail in his oversized tunic, yet the scars visible at the nape of her neck depicted her as a survivor: someone strong, resilient and powerful. She had journeyed, he realised, since the night he had first met her in the blood-freezing cold near Helgen. She was not the frail, exotic, little woman he had been attracted to; she was Dragonborn, a proud and strong warrior he loved. Which is why, when she turned toward him, eyes sad yet smiling in relief he closed the distance between them in a few strides and grabbed her in the tightest embrace he could and whispered: "Welcome back". He felt her smile against his neck and then, despite her protests lifted her bridal style and carried her back inside their warm little home. "It feels good to be back", she breathed in the crook of his neck.

He had just laid her back on the warm bed and was about to pull the blankets back on her shivering form and ice-cold feet when she suddenly sat up and pivoted toward him. He tried to protest but his words were lost when she grabbed unto him and, falling back on the furs, brought him down with her. The kisses they shared then were heated and almost violent in their desperation. They both craved each other's touch and after such a long time apart, neither of them had the restrain to take things slow. Their breathing grew heavy as Ralof kissed and nipped Luthien's neck, making sure her ears received their fair share of attention. Luthien had her legs wrapped tightly against his waist and was fumbling with his breeches leather tie. His lips never leaving her sensible neck and ears for more than a second, the blond warrior gripped her hips with his large hand and lifting her lightly from the bed, pushed the oversized shirt over her head revealing her aroused, scared, dark body. At that moment, she brought her arms over her exposed midriff in an attempt to hide the scars. Quickly deciding he would have none of it, Ralof whispered against her hear in a voice made hoarse with arousal, "As a Nord, I have a thing for scars, don't you dare hide them love". With that said, he took both her wrists in a loose hold and slowly brought toward the bed board. His eyes never left hers, gauging her reaction. For a moment he saw a shimmer of fear and paused, but she, then, slightly nodded and allowed him to pin her hands above her head. She knew she could trust Ralof with her life so she silenced the memories and focused on the present. Knowing the scars were bound to still be sore, he placed featherlike kisses on the ones that looked oldest. He heard Luthien chuckle nervously as he did so. Ever so slowly, his mouth travelled south leaving an ardent trail of kisses along the way. As he did so, he had to relinquish his hold on her wrists but by then, Luthien had no intention whatsoever to hide any part of her anatomy. Conveniently, there was no undergarment to remove and the burning lips reached their destination without obstacle. Luthien let out a loud moan as Ralof kissed, licked and sucked the little nub of nerves between her legs and her hands left their place above her feathery white head to gasp his blond braided mane. His tongue was like a feather, teasing, leading her toward the edge and she started grinding against his mouth, his beard grazing the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs increasing the sensations. She felt a slight stretch as his fingers delved inside of her, preparing her body to receive him. He chuckled as he felt her clench repetitively against the intruding appendages, her hands pulling almost painfully on his hair. At that point, he was as hard as a rock and longed to feel those perfect dark lips caress his manhood. Yet he knew that as strong as she was, his little lover had had some traumatic experiences before and, as she had never seemed inclined to return the favour, he did not have it in him to push her regardless of the countless dreams he had had concerning those lips.

Removing his fingers, he lay flat above her and kissed her fiercely. He was about to slide inside her when she rolled on top of him. "My turn", she whispered as she caressed his torso and brought his arms above his head, mimicking his earlier motion. She began by kissing his neck, slightly nibbling on his ear lobe. She knew this would not elicit the same responses in him as it did in her, but his throaty moan and him turning his head sideways to expose the area even more let her know it was nevertheless appreciated. She kissed her way to his nipples, taking each one in her mouth and leaving them ever so slightly swollen. As she kept exploring him, he began grinding against her. Feeling his need pressed so hard against her, she paused and looked at him. He was so handsome; eyelids heavy, breathing hard, cheeks flushed and mouth slightly opened in a silent moan. His tousled golden hair framing his face like a halo, he was nothing like the Captain. She trusted him and love him more than she ever thought was possible. There was no way she was letting the past keeping her from pleasing him.

Ralof's eyes snapped open as he felt her breath on his throbbing member. She was kneeling between his legs. Gods she was beautiful and he wanted her so much. Which is why it took all of his self-control to utter, "You don't have to do it, love". Bringing one hand from above his head to caress her cheek he added, "Not if you don't want to". Placing her hand on his, she smiled and responded, "I know". She intertwined their fingers and placed their joined hands on the fur blanket. Looking at him on last time, she lowered her head.

His groan almost made her peak again with its intensity. She felt his hand clench hers, yet he was careful not to crush her delicate grey appendage despite his passion. Looking up at him, she saw the other hand clench the pillow and as it longed to rest on her silky head. Empowered by such a strong reaction, she decided to bury the Captain forever. She wanted to smother him with new memories of Ralof and her. His hand had been hard and demanding, commanding; Ralof's would be different. Slowly, she brought their joined hands to her head and released her grip. Immediately, the strong calloused fingers combed through her white locks. The light, obviously restrained touch, elicited a shiver in her petite body. As her lover neared his end, the hand began slightly guiding her. Despite his best intentions, his hips had a mind of their own but she never once felt corned. For the first time, it actually felt good. Suddenly, she felt him pull her head away. She barely had time to remove herself as the pearly white substance spattered his taut belly. She could barely make out her name through the ragged breathy moan that came out of his lips. She crawled next to him as he caught his breath and nuzzled her soft hair. They shared a few tired kisses as they fought to keep sleep at bay a few more minutes.

They sat together by the fire after a long exhausting morning of wood-chopping and hunting. Luthien was slowly building back her strength under Ralof's loving care and he was massaging her shoulders, stealing a kiss or two in the process when he spoke to her in a voice lacking his usual assurance.

"The last time we were in Riverwood together, your friend Faendal, he said a few things to me".

She turned her head toward him, "What things".

"Well, first of all, he said you were young", he replied in a gruff voice. She was staring at the fire, saying nothing so he added, "How old are you". Her silence was a little unnerving for him so he continued. "He said elves live very long lives and that you are very young".

"Altmutii said I was twenty, but I never really counted. Why", she enquired.

"Men don't live as long as elves", he almost whispered.

After a heavy silence, where the only sounds were that of the burning fire and wind outside, she replied, "I know".

She took a long breath before continuing. "I think Altmutii loved a man once; a kind man, with a big heart and too much courage for his own good". She could feel he was about to ask a question yet dared not. "He died many, many years ago, long before her. But they had loved each other a lot, enough to last her a lifetime". Ralof hugged her tightly as she finished her sentence.

"Was it worth it for her", he asked, not quite sure he would like the answer. Luthien took a while to think of her response, it was obviously a very important subject for her companion. "He was taken away from her before his time, so it was hard for her. Yet he gave her my mother and she reminded her of him. When she spoke of him it was as if he was still with her, she had stars in her eyes. So yes, I think it was worth it".

Ralof hugged her in silence for some time, slightly rocking her against his large chest. She was about to fall asleep when he spoke again. This time, his voice was clear, full of strength and determination. "Run away with me".

Instantly awake, she turned toward him "What?".

"We can't get married in Skyrim but we could do it in Cyrodiil. We wouldn't have to be parted by our race. We just have to cross the mountain", he added, full of hope.

Luthien was astonished. Had Ralof just proposed? She had dreamt of that moment so many times, only to wake up cold and alone while she remembered the unwritten laws of Skyrim. Her heart was bursting as her brain went numb.

"You would leave your family?" she translated as she realized she had first said it in Dunmeri.

He had obviously thought about this inevitability for a long time as a tear ran on his cheek into his short beard at the mention of it.

"I wish I didn't have to choose, but I couldn't bear to be parted from you".

She could not believe what she heard. Obviously, there would be something he had not thought about; something that would prevent their apparently shared dream from coming true.

"What about the Thalmor, the Imperials", she almost begged. Despite her wishes, tears were rolling down her cheeks as mayhem raged inside of her.

"I don't care, I will live with Imperials and the Thalmor until my dying breath if it means I can take it next to you", he said with passion, his eyes betraying him just as hers had.

"And Talos? He doesn't exist in Cyrodiil".

"I don't need an altar to worship him. He's up there, that's all that matters".

"And Alduin?" she added, her heart breaking. "I can't leave before killing him. He would eat this world and all with it".

They looked at each other in despair. Was all of Nirn really against them?

"Then we kill him", said Ralof with assurance. "We do it together, then we run".

"It might take a while", replied the Dunmer with a hint of humour despite her tear-soaked face.

"I don't care. I'm not leaving you again".

That night, their lovemaking was slow, passionate, and quiet. Happy and fulfilled, they fell asleep in each other's embrace. They would start packing in the morning.

"Do we really have to carry that old parchment roll", asked Ralof as he saw her place it in her already full backpack. "There is nothing but gibberish written on it".

"You read it", screamed Luthien as she ran toward him. He had never seen her so irate and to be honest, knowing what she could do, he was a little scared. "Yes", he replied, sheepishly. The ornate cover and its timeless appearance had intrigued him; what could be so secret about it that his love would go in such a state.

"Can you see", she asked, obviously troubled.

"Of course love, books don't make you go blind", he said lightly chuckling.

"It's not a book Ralof! It's a scroll", she could see he was about to retort so she yelled "An Elder Scroll, those who read it are cursed with the loss of their sight".

After that little altercation, she had to explain to the man she loved how she came to own one of the Gods' Scrolls. She also had to explain that it was the key to defeating Alduin as he had apparently been sent forward in time the first time he had been thought defeated. By the end of the tale, the strong blond Nord was as pale as snow. He was, for the first time, beginning to understand that defeating Alduin, especially with such powerful, mystical weapons, could very well lead them both to their death. He was very confident about is strength in battle, but if their destiny relied on legends and scribbles, be it Gods scribbles or not, he was suddenly much less sure of the outcome.

They left the house together around midday for High Hrothgar. Their packs were heavy as they knew they would not be coming back. Their road would take them South until Cyrodiil, to freedom or to their death. Both hoping they would reach Cyrodiil, they were still planning to stop in Riverwood for a few days in case the worst came to pass.


	12. Chapter 12: The Throat of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mature

The little Dunmer was quite touched to see Ralof so moved as they reached the ancient stone fortress of High Hrothgar despite knowing he was very pious. First, he had insisted on saying a prayer on every shrine along the way, then, he had been hesitant to enter the cold halls. She was religious too, yet High Hrothgar held no particular significance in her faith. She could understand her partner's reverence, but she could not bring herself to pray along with him. As they arrived at the door, Luthien had to assure him that the Greybeards would not see it as an insult for an outsider to enter their temple before he dared cross the threshold. The old men had been delighted to see the young Dragonborn come back and greeted them with polite informality, which quickly put the tall Nord to ease. Despite their knowledge, seclusion, and mutism, they were good people, decided Ralof as he joined them for an evening prayer to Talos.

After the long road and the short nights shared between sleeping in an ice-cold tent and standing guard, sleeping together between four walls was a most welcome experience. The Greybeards had made no comment about the two of them settling together for the night which gave hope to the two lovers. They were both a little annoyed, though, that the very silent and very echoic halls allowed them so little privacy, but, as Luthien told the very eager man caressing her despite her half-hearted protests, they would soon be husband and wife in a land where they would be free to love each other and even kiss in the street; it was only a matter of time.

Luthien's protests were short-lived though as Ralof's hands snaked around her body, coming to rest on her lower abdomen and mouth. She was about to remind him once more that this was not the more appropriate place for such intimacy when he softly kissed the pointy tip of her ear. As always, her body reacted strongly to his ministration. They made love that night, silently, facing each other in the dead of night.

Luthien woke him up early the next morning and the blond man protested quite a bit, trying to bring her back in bed with him. It took all of her restraint and then some not to indulge in his embrace once more. After a warm breakfast with the old men, they left for the mountaintop. Luthien insisted they left the heavy bags behind and took only what they needed for the short journey and possibly a fight. Ralof had a hard time understanding why they would have to expect a fight while going to visit the leader of the Greybeards, yet he complied without asking questions. Luthien had, after all, climbed this summit before. More to the point, she had survived in the harsh land of Skyrim despite her small stature, inexperience, and many encounters with dragons. In his eyes, that made her an expert on survival.

Even if he lived as long as Luthien would, he would never forget the sight that greeted him. An ancient-looking dragon was perched on an old stonewall. Through the fear, he could not help but notice that despite the tears in the wing cartilage and the old scars, the monster looked commanding. Its charcoal black eyes locked on them as soon as they reached the snowy plateau overlooking the whole of Skyrim. His blood freezing in his veins, he promptly stepped in front of Luthien, unsheathing his war axe. He was about to exhort her to leave when her melodious laughter had him turning toward her in confusion. A low rumbling soon joined in. Was he going mad or was the winged beast laughing too?

"Drem Yol Lok Dovahkiin, I see you did not warn him of my presence", said the dragon in a low powerful voice, slowly stepping down the wall. "You can sheath your axe, Dovahkiin fahdon I am Paarthurnax", the voice added in Norse tongue.

Seeing his confusion, the Dunmer placed a gloved hand on his forearm, effectively lowering the weapon. "I'm sorry, I should have told you", she whispered in a contrite tone. "This is Paarthurnax, the leader of the Greybeards, though he does not acknowledge the title. You have nothing to fear".

It took a few minutes for Ralof's grip to unclenched and he agreed to place the weapon back on his belt. Seeing the dragon up-close, there was nothing he could do to keep his mind from going back to that awful day in Riverwood. No matter how much he wanted to keep up with the discussion between Luthien and that murderous creature, his mind kept showing him his love, lying broken on the frosted ground, her blood flowing freely out of horrible wounds only to be greedily drunk by the soil. Sensing his discomfort, the little woman extended her arm toward him and clasped his trembling hand in hers. Despite the glove, he could feel her warmth diffusing in his bare palm. It was all right; she was standing next to him, safe and sound. The sharp fangs, mere meters away from her, were not aiming to tear her apart. Giving her smaller hand a gentle squeeze, he used her warmth to ground himself in the present.

Under the scrutinizing eyes of the old dragon, the small Dragonborn opened the jeweled case and unrolled the ancient parchment encased in it. Despite being as old as Tamriel itself, it showed no signs time had passed since it had been written; the lines were crisp, the ink pure shiny black. For a brief second, nothing happened and the two lovers thought their quest would lead nowhere. Then, there was a subtle shimmering in the air right in front of the white-haired woman. It looked like the air had taken the shape of a curtain; it undulated as if touched by a light breeze, emitting a diffuse pure white light. Taking a deep breath of the cold mountain air, Luthien stepped through the curtain. Seeing her silhouette becoming blurred, Ralof was beside himself with worry. He was the fighter, the warrior, the soldier; he should have been the one to take the risks, to step into the unknown. His gut was screaming at him to protect his lover, to keep her out of harm's way, but, he thought bitterly, his lover was the Dragonborn. There was no way he could keep her away from the task appointed to her by the Gods no matter how much he wanted to. He swore as he watched her shape flicker, caught in the time wound, that he would accompany her all the way through her quest. If it took them both to Sovngarde, then so be it. He would proudly lay down his life to protect her.

It seemed like an eternity had passed since she slipped in the time wound, but it finally closed, allowing her to come back into the present, he was at her side. He had seen her after learning a new Shout as she called them; he knew it would weaken her. Not for too long, but as she processed the meaning of the new words she would be slightly shaken and disoriented; she would be vulnerable. She was leaning against him, her legs wobbly from her travel through the ages, old words gaining meaning, when he heard it: the telltale low rumbling of a dragon's wings. Something was coming.

He swore loudly, startling his little elf. Quickly he carried her to the base of the word wall and looking at Paarthurnax he spoke loudly, "Watch out for her", before jogging to the middle of the plateau. The black wings cast an ominous shadow in the sky as the ember-eyed Alduin landed in the crisp snow, lifting delicate flakes in a shimmering cloud around him and making the ground shake. The dragon was walking menacingly toward the blond warrior who stood tall between the creature of nightmare and his precious Dunmer.

Standing a mere meter away from him, the obsidian beast spoke, its breath scalding as if its entrails were made from the very same matter as the core of the world. "Step aside, meek mortal, I'm not here for you. I want the Dovahkiin".

Ralof never understood what possessed him to reply of the sort, but it was something stronger than courage. "You will not get to her. Not as long as I'm alive!"

A hacking chuckle shook the ground. "It can be arranged", grated the thundering voice. There was a deep, loud rumbling before the sky turned black, storm clouds raining fiery stones on the mountaintop. The deserting Stormcloak Officer did not even have the time to fully register the words before he was sent flying into the wall next to the lithe woman he had sworn to protect. He saw the monster open his powerful jaws, the burning furnace contained by the rock-like skin threatening to bathe them both in a deadly blaze.

The mist surrounding her faded slowly. She could see her nightmare, huge, black as death, with the haunting burning eyes of embers. Was it...? Was there really someone standing between her and that beast? No, it couldn't be, she thought, there was no way he could be so stupid. "Ralof", she tried to call, but her voice was muted. She could hear Alduin summoning a rain of stone. As the sky turned back, she fought to realign her thoughts. It was the mate noise of her lover's body being thrown on the wall next to her that did it. She could remember. The new words, their meaning. As a mortal, it seemed easy, natural, to comprehend; yet the Dragons' souls trapped inside of her could not fathom the concept. She could feel their consternation as she shouted with all her might "Jool Zah Frul".

The great fiery maw snapped shut in surprise as a ray of light, raining down the dark stormy sky, landed on the dragon's back effectively nailing the beast to the mountain. The Dunmer cast a quick look to her Nord lover; he was all right, a bit dizzy, but nothing serious. Picking herself up, she quickly grabbed her bow and an arrow from her quiver before rolling out of reach from the World Eater. True to his word, the beast did not bother with the blond warrior and turned toward the Dragonborn. "You think yourself so clever, learning this repulsive Shout", he barked at her in dragon speech. "I was not bested before, you saw the fight. Arrogant mortal". Not bothering with a reply, she let another arrow fly toward the eyes of the monster. "I will enjoy killing you Dovahkiin, do you think your mate will weep", he taunted her before unleashing a blast of inferno on her.

Ralof came to his sense in time to see his beloved engulfed in a ball of fire. Jumping back on his feet, he unsheathed both his axe and his iron sword before charging at Alduin with a fierce battle cry. From the corner of his eye, he could see Paarthurnax looming over their heads, raining fire on the other dragon. If, by Talos, he came out alive of this fight, he would apologize whole-heartedly to this precious ally. The cloud of fire surrounding the little Dunmer woman faded and he saw her, really saw her, in all her Dragonborn's might. She stood tall, proud and undamaged with her bow at the ready. The sight seemed to even faze Alduin as he slightly recoiled. She used this short respite to repeat the shout preventing him from rising from the ground. Once more, the seemingly heavy light landed on the black-scaled dragon. Ralof slashed relentlessly at the thick stony hide while avoiding the deadly teeth, tail, and sharp claws. His lover's arrows imbedded themselves in the slightly softer wings' hide, spilling crimson blood on the white expense of the mountain.

They kept on fighting like this for what seemed like ages. He could hardly lift his arms anymore and both his blades were probably irreparably damaged from bashing against what felt like rocks. Luthien had run out of arrows and was now relying on magic and shouts to vanquish Akatosh's firstborn. She had not bothered using the Dragonrend shout for a while; her enemy's wings could not carry it anymore it seemed, pierced as they were. Paarthurnax was still circling over their heads, shouting at his former commanding officer.

Finally, Alduin spoke, his voice strong despite the extent of his injuries. "You cannot best be in this world Dovahkiin. I will outlast you all", he roared before surging in the air and flying away.

Paarthurnax landed heavily back on his wall. He too was wounded from the fight, most likely from a close encounter with the fiery boulders, and blood was dripping between his pale scales. He spoke to the Dragonborn as she rushed into her lover's arms. "You truly have the voice of a Dovah, mortal. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory".

Incredulous, the exhausted Nord replied, "Does this really count as a victory?".

"Yes Dovahkiin fahdon. Thought this is not the final combat, it was still a victory. Not even the heroes of the old-times managed to kill Alduin in open combat". He shifted slightly on his wall to relieve the pressure on his injured talon. "Alduin was always arrogant and took his power as his birthright. This will shake the loyalty of those who serve him". The old dragon seemed amused by this outcome. It was slightly unnerving to see the ancient Dragon in such a mood. "But we still need to finish this", added Luthien, her voice hoarse from shouting and incanting for so long. "We have to find out where he retreated".

Quickly becoming serious again, Paarthurnax added in his deep rumbling voice, "Yes, one of his ally could tell us, but it will not be an easy task to get them to betray him". He took a few moments to think. "Perhaps the palace in Whiterun… Dragonsreach. It was built to serve as a prison for a captured Dovah. A fine place to trap one of Alduin's ally, hmm?".

The way down the mountain was painful and silent for both the lovers. Even after a summary healing provided by Luthien, the exhaustion from the battle made every joint stiff. She had even attempted to cast her healing spell on the old dragon, thought effective, she lacked the sheer power to repair his numerous wounds. Impressively enough, she had managed to heal his talon. The cold wind was somehow colder, the perspiration drenched clothes more uncomfortable and the descent seemed steeper for their tired legs than it really was. The little elf was completely drained. Ralof and herself had sustained only small injuries, scrapes, and burns, but Paarthurnax's talon had proven to be a challenge. She had also learned two completely knew Shouts today and the fresh knowledge of the Dragon's name was still hurling in her mind. The adrenaline pumping through their body and their mutual support carried them back to High Hrothgar in spite of it all.

Once they safely made it to their shared room, they started to remove their wet clothes in silence, setting them to dry the best they could next to the small cast iron brazier heating up the room. They were both half-dressed when their gaze met. In the amber light of the fire, it seemed as if their cores had caught on fire and said fire was trying to escape through their eyes. Minutely forgetting where they were, they crashed together, tearing at their remaining clothes. Up there, their fight did not seem as much of a victory despite Paarthurnax's wise words, but down here, in the safety of the temple, they celebrated their survival. After fearing to lose each other, they needed to feel close. Ralof was devouring the supple neckline, hungrily moving toward her breasts while Luthien was breathing hard in the crook of his neck, trying to unbuckle his belt with trembling hands. With his pants pooling around his ankles, he was powerless against the "fus" she whispered against his chest in a voice rendered breathless by arousal, sending him flying on the bed. They fought for dominance, harsh kisses, bites, and bone-cracking embraces. The Dragonborn, despite her small stature, ended up winning, impaling herself on him roughly, clawing at his chest as he groaned both in pain and pleasure. It was not long, though, before he rolled them over, pounding inside her willing body as he nibbled harshly at her ears making her cry out. Their desperate lovemaking, however, did not last long. He came quickly with a loud guttural groan as he felt her fluttering around him after a particularly languorous kiss to her ear lobe. His exhausted arms incapable of bearing his weight anymore, forced him to roll quickly on his side to avoid crushing the little elf beneath him. She barely managed to crawl in his strong embrace before sleep took them both.

Later when Arngeir came to invite them over for supper, he found them entangled together. The Dovahkiin scared body, partly covering the muscled Nord torso, both made just barely decent by the light blanket. Despite the warm body beneath her, he could see the lithe elf shivering. Smiling softly, the old man grabbed the bear pelt, which had ended up strewn on the floor during their time together and draped it across the lovers. Startled by the sudden movement, Ralof jolted awake, bringing Luthien's still asleep body closer to his. Noticing the soldier's reaction, the old man said in his usual quiet voice, "You are a lucky man Ralof of Riverwood, take good care of our Dragonborn" before he exited the room.

Gerdur was, as always, more than happy to accommodate her brother and Luthien for the duration of their stay. Ralof chose not to mention their planned escape to Cyrodiil, the plan to capture a dragon, or their fight against Alduin. He wanted to spend some quality time with the people he cared most about in the whole of Tamriel without tainting it with a sense of impending doom. During the three day they spent with his family, he finally took his nephew hunting with the Dragonborn, and this time they were not caught by surprise by a dragon. Just as he had expected last time, they did not manage to catch anything, but Frodnar was over the moons with excitement. He kept smiling long after he had fallen asleep that night. He spent some time working in the mill with his sister and her husband as if the dragon crisis had never happened, making small talk, reminiscing, and overall having quite a bit of fun, if slightly bittersweet.

Luthien for her part went hunting with Faendal. She told him of her plan of leaving for Cyrodiil, hoping maybe he would chose to do the same thing with Camilla one day. Knowing his Dunmer friend much better than she gave him credit for, he sensed something was amiss and she ended up confessing that their visit to Riverwood would be their last. She told him of their plans to defeat Alduin, about the Dragon they had to capture. He offered his help, as she feared he would. Despite being aware she needed all the help she could get, she could not allow him to put himself in danger like this. Instead, he asked him to look after the village, more precisely Ralof's family and Orgnar after her departure. She left a note in the hidden room for Orgnar, leaving him everything she had stored in the inn except a few supplies she added to her backpack before leaving.

The two lovers spent their last night in Riverwood, together, a bit outside of the village in a little creek Ralof was very fond of in his younger years. They had borrowed a large blanket from the inn and settled their little camp beneath an old tree. It was a warm spring night and they cuddled under the stars away from prying eyes.

They reached Whiterun by midday. Unfortunately for the two lovers, the city was mostly partial to the Empire and Ralof's Stormcloak armour lead to an altercation with the guards. He ended up owing his life to Luthien's Thane title as she promised to vouch for his actions. The eldest son of the Battle-Born clan proved to be aggressive toward Ralof as they passed him by on the Plains District. The commotion was such it brought the Companions out of Jorvaskr. At that point, the townspeople who had stopped to witness the exchange cleared the place. Seeing a group of muscular armed men looking obviously displeased to see their sword training interrupted tended to have that effect. The Dunmer was quite happy though to see Farkas come to their defence. As his imposing presence did not seem quite sufficient to calm the Imperial supporter, he threatened to have him arrested should he keep on troubling the peace. On their way to Dragonsreach, the tall Nord man made a short stop at the shrine of Talos, asking for His help in their endeavour. This lead to more comments from Idolaf Battle-Born who took upon himself to watch the "enemy's" every move. Upon their arrival inside the palace, the guard quickly brought their hands to their weapons, a clear message to the Stormcloak soldier that any disturbance would result in armed response.

Jarl Balgruuf was, despite the tensed atmosphere, quite pleased to meet with the Dragonborn again. That was until she asked to use his palace to capture a Dragon. She had to explain why she needed to capture such a dangerous creature and more precisely how she would manage that exploit. She had to argue the fact that even though it was a dangerous move, it would not leave the city undefended and thus would not facilitate a Stormcloak invasion. Finally, she had to agree to let the despicable court mage poke at the dragon in case they were successful and managed to keep it prisoner. It took longer than both Ralof and Luthien would have hope for, but still, it was worth it in the end as they managed to avoid hosting a peace conference, thus avoiding any contact with Ulfric Stormcloak. When the Jarl had first mentioned it would be mandatory to get his approval, the blond warrior had turned so white the Jarl had asked if he needed to sit down. The fact was, he had never told the young Dragonborn of the Windhelm Jarl's plans for her. She was therefore unaware of the danger such an encounter held for her, for them. When Luthien had argued that the time was of the essence and that every day spent idle was a day Alduin could use to grow stronger he had silently prayed to Talos that the Jarl would hear reason. As the sun had set, the Dunmer and the Nord made their way to the Bannered Mare. Regretfully, they had to request two single rooms to avoid causing a riot. The atmosphere was already tensed enough with Ralof in uniform in the hall; they did not need to add comments about improper interspecies relationships to the mix. Fortunately, Idolaf had not followed them in the Inn.

That night, when the city was asleep, a shadow crept from Jorvaskr. Vignar Gray-Mane was the eyes and ears of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak in Imperial Whiterun. He knew how important it was to secure the Dragonborn's allegiance, how recruiting the legend would effectively tilt the balance of power in favour of the Stormcloaks. He also knew Ulfric thought her to be dead, so that night, he sent out a letter correcting the facts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drem Yol Lok: Greetings (peace, fire, sky)
> 
> Dovahkiin fahdon: Dovahkiin's friend


	13. Chapter 13: Dragonsreach

The decaying mage crumbled, the scaled armour exploding as the body turned to ashes. The staff was cold and heavy in her hand as she picked it up from the mage's remains. She climbed the stone steps up to the terrace overlooking an impressive stone carving. Under the idle dragon's scrutiny, she embedded the base of the staff in an ornate hole. As the stone carving cracked and dived in the ground the pure white light that emerged momentarily blinded her. She walked into it with confidence. She was in the field of flowers again, surrounded by mist. Through it, she could feel His eyes, His presence, menacing as ever. Though she did not see where it came from, she heard the deep rumbling of a waterfall. She knew she was in Sovngarde. As she shouted at the mist, she felt a warm presence next to her, and suddenly the mist was gone. Alduin stood in all his glory, smouldering ember eyes staring at her. She held his stare calmly, reassured by the warm presence. Slowly hairline fractures stated forming through the obsidian body. She could see the internal blaze radiating through them, pulsating, allowing the cracks to grow until the frail crust could not contain it anymore. It was over in a fiery blast. Alduin was no more.

Tiptoeing the best he could despite his weight, Ralof made his way into the room next to his. On the rickety bed lay Luthien. In the faint moonlight seeping through the dirty glass, he could see she was sleeping soundly. Her dusky face, usually tensed as the nightmares harassed her, was perfectly serene. Seeing her so relaxed on the eve of what could very well end up being their last battle was somehow reassuring. The Dragonborn at peace, it could only mean good things, right? At least she would have a good night of sleep he thought. For his part, he had spent hours tossing and turning on the small bed. Though he wanted to be with his little elf all the way through the end, he was not quite ready to accept it could come so quickly. Between small periods of light sleep, he had prayed, and prayed until he had exhausted the whole pantheon. If he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit he was ready to lay down his life for her; his love, his little elf. His greatest fear was that he would outlive her. Having survived like this for over a month, he knew we would not be able to do it again.

Closing the door softly, he went back to his room.

When they arrived to Dragonsreach, the guards were already opening the great gates leading to the balcony overlooking the city. A few carpenters were strengthening the pillars supporting the trap and an engineer was testing the capture mechanism. It was overall very noisy and the atmosphere was quite tensed. As the odd couple walked into the room, the noise died out. Curious eyes were scrutinizing the newcomers and whispers were exchanged. The highest-ranking guards finally greeted the Dragonborn, effectively putting an end at the uncomfortable situation. He gave them a tour of the place, explaining how the trap was activated and how the dragon had to be positioned for it to be effective. In case the first attempt was unsuccessful, he also informed them that the whole mechanism could be ready for another try in eight minutes. The Jarl paid them a visit when the room was ready, accompanied by his trusted Irileth and, unfortunately, thought Luthien, the court mage. She had to remember that his presence during the capture and the right to experiment on the dragon when they were done with it had been a condition to the use of Dragonsreach as a trap.

A few minutes later, the engineer signalled that the trap was ready to go. Not long after, the carpenters exited the place, stating that the pillars had been restored to their former glory and would be able to sustain the dragon's strength. Seeing as every thing would soon be ready. Luthien walked toward the balcony. The sky was clear, the sun was not too high in the sky, the wind was mild; the conditions were definitely optimal for the dragon's capture. His name, tossing and turning in her mind since she had learned it, was ready to come out. Normally, she tried every shout immediately after learning them. That way, she had found with experience, the discomfort of the new knowledge was lessened. With this one though, she had not been able to resort to her usual strategy as it could have alerted the dragon of their plan.

Ralof jogged by her side and after looking around them, took her hand in his. "Are you ready love", he said looking straight in her eyes. Smiling lightly, she replied with assurance, "As I will ever be". His hand lingered a bit in her and they could both see in the other eyes the disappointment of not being able to express their affection in a clearer way.

Even though he was technically not in charge of the guards, Ralof still oversaw the strategic aspect of the plan. The officer in charge seemed quite relieved, if a bit surprised, to see this outsider take command of his team. The tall blond man inspired confidence in his men by his aplomb and despite the fact he had walked in the city in Stormcloak uniform, no one second-guessed his orders. When the guards were positioned to his liking, he gave a small nod to the Dunmer who was awaiting his word to unleash the power of her Thu'um.

"Odahviing", she shouted to the sky, making the walls of the palace rumble. Her voice was like thunder and many townspeople raised their head, momentarily distracted, to see what was happening on the palace terrace. She heard the flapping wings, low and ominous, long before she actually saw the beast. Unlike the ones she had encountered before, this on was deep carmine with a touch of indigo and shimmering black eyes. His wings, snow-white as his name indicated, looked like they were spattered with blood as the sun's rays seeped through the cartilage. He spoke to her as he circled the palace, terrifying the guards and making the distraught bystanders on the Wind District scatter.

"The rumours were true Dovahkiin, your Thu'um is equal to that of the Dovah".

The whole room shook as he heavily landed on the roof. Despite Ralof's order, a few guards ran on the terrace and attempted to shoot arrows at the red beast. Unfortunately for one of them, their foolish attack ended quite abruptly as he was promptly caught in the dragon's powerful jaws and thrown to the ground. Luthien used that moment to shout at the monster as she had done with Alduin. Retreating quickly inside the hangar, she motioned for the guards to stand aside. Unlike the fight with Alduin, this one was over quickly as the proud beast landed on the terrace, nailed to the ground by the weight of his own mortality. He managed to crawl toward the Dragonborn, standing still just a few meters behind the trap. He was about to breath fire on the little Dunmer when the heavy wooden harness fell on his neck. Noticing his predicament, the Dragon started vociferating. "No", he screamed. "Caught like a bear in a trap. My eagerness to meet you in battle brought my defeat".

Seeing his chance of finally studying the dragons, Farengar attempted to poke the downed beast with a thin dagger. He never got to study anything past the reaction an angry dragon had at being prodded and nearly lost his eyebrows as the nightmarish creature blew fire at him.

"Gogil", spat Odahviing as the mage made a rather hurried and undignified escape.

Despite her best effort not to do so, Luthien found herself sniggering at the rude mage's situation. The epithet chosen by the dragon was also quite suitable!

Under the anxious stare of the guards and Ralof, she approached the dragon and came to a stop at arm's length from his monstrous jaw. Looking him straight in the eyes, she exposed the terms of his liberation.

After what seemed like hours to the worried audience, the Dragonborn asked to have the trap removed. After the guards outwardly refused to comply, she had to climb on the wooden runway above the hangar to raise the heavy collar restraining the Dragon. There was a collective gasp as the beast turned around and moved quickly to the terrace.

Jumping down the last steps, the Dragonborn was quickly running toward it, Ralof in tow. As she reached the dragon, she turned to face her lover.

"You're not coming", she said in a neutral voice.

"The Void I am!" he yelled, his face turning crimson. Despite him towering over her in an advanced state of anger she did not flinch and replied calmly. "This is most likely a one-way trip. I can't let you come with me". Incomprehension now eclipsing the anger he whispered, "I love you Luthien. I'm with you till whatever end. I won't let you go alone". She lowered her eyes to the ground before facing him once more. "I love you too Ralof, more than I can say and that is why I can't let you die with me". He was about to open his mouth to retort when she interrupted him. "It's not up for discussion", she said shortly, grasping the carmine tusks on the Dragon's back and hoisting herself up. "No, it's not", he added joining her on the beast.

She was about to retort but Odahviing chose that moment to spread his powerful wings and push himself over the edge forcing her to tighten her grip on the large neck beneath her. She felt strong, warm arms wrap around her waist and secure her in place. "Well, that's one thing I was not expecting to do in this life", he said jokingly as the initial shock faded away giving way to euphoria. Beneath them, he could see Riverwood, little shapes moving about, a patchwork of differently coloured grass and fields, the White River, the Throat of the World, and far away, in a thin mist, the Velothi Mountains.

"Today you fly like a Dovah, Dovahkiin", said the dragon in a deep rumbling voice.

"Yes", she breathed, "We missed that".

She could feel the dragons' soul inside of her rejoicing as the landscape unfurled beneath them, hundreds of meters away. She allowed them to enjoy the cold air as she lay back on her lover's broad torso.

They landed on a bare stone circle in the middle of a lush valley. Before them, stood an ominous, tiered, pitch-black city. It bore resemblance to the numerous Nordic ruins scattered across Skyrim, but it was incredibly larger. Even as far as they were from it, they could see draugr stride on the parapets and dragons coiled on the battlements.

"I've seen this place before", breathed Luthien surveying the place, eyes wide in fear.

"You might be Dovahkiin, mortal, but you lack the wings to reach this place", snorted Odahviing.

Turning to her Nord companion, the little Dunmer added, "It was in the dreams… This place. You can't come with me, Ralof. You need to go back". He heard the panic in her voice, much like at night when she woke up, screaming, drenched in sweat. She had that haunted look on her face. He tried to take her in his arms, as was his habit when she was in such a state, but she sidestepped and looked toward the red dragon. "Take him back Odahviing, bring him back with you", she screamed. The beast seemed to take offence at her tone and replied, baring his fangs, "I am not yours to command, Dovahkiin. You need to prove your Thu'um's worth against Alduin. If he is defeated, and only then, will I obey you". Stepping on her toes to look the scaled monster straight in the eyes, she whispered, fury seeping in her every word, "I go to my death. The path set before me will take me to Sovngarde. I have seen it. Take… him…back". Unbeknownst to her, she was now speaking in the dragon speech, which prevented Ralof from reacting to her statement. The Dragon, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction. His eyes narrowed and he deeply inhaled the air around her. "How did you know there was a portal here", he asked. Before she had a chance to reply, he added, "You have the Sight, which means you are from the Septim blood! We, Dovah, thought it had come to an end". This strange answer had Luthien backing away from him slightly, confused. Next to her, the blond warrior was doing his best to follow the exchange, yet he had to rely on facial expressions alone, for the words were completely lost on him. "It's impossible. The Septims are emperors", she said with a light chuckle. "The Septims were emperors until Akatosh took the last of them during the attempted coup from Mehrunes Dagon. One by one, the Septims' sons were assassinated by Dagon's agents. The Emperor himself was murdered. All seemed lost; the world was about to be destroyed by the Deadras, but then, suddenly, our Father was summoned to the mortal realm. He used the Dragon blood in the mortal's veins to bind His essence and carry His power to Tamriel. The mortal did not survive and the line was broken. Or so it was thought to be", he finished with a slight questioning tone.

"It can't be", she finally said after a long silence. "Altmutii never said…", she began. "She said she loved a man, during the war. He was a priest called Martin. His parents were farmers, in Kvatch".

"Martin Septim, the exiled, illegitimate son of Uriel Septim VII. He died in our Father's temple when he became His avatar", supplied the Dragon. "You are not a newly appointed Dragonborn. You are the descendant of Tiber Septim himself".

This was too much, Luthien's legs buckled and she ended up in Ralof's arms. "What is it love", asked the man, worry showing on his face.

Before the shaken Dunmer had time to form a reply, the Dragon was speaking again, "The Sight is a reflection of Akatosh's Will. Whatever is seen always comes to pass. Did you foresee it Dovahkiin. Did you foresee Alduin's death". His voice was insistent and her answer came much too slowly for his taste as she remembered last night's dream. "Yes".

As soon as the words exited her mouth, the dragon took flight in a cloud of dust. His voice rang loud in the valley as he spoke to her one last time before flying over the mountains. "Then you do not need me Alduinfeyn. You will take your mortal back yourself".

As the red beast disappeared over the mountain, the two lovers looked at each other. It was Ralof who broke the silence. "What in the Void is happening? Where did it go".

Luthien's answer did nothing to reassure him, "It doesn't matter. We are on our own". There was no way she would start explaining now everything that had transpired in the last conversation. Their fate was sealed and it mattered little whose blood was in her veins as long as Alduin was alive. Once their quest came at an end, if she was still alive, she would try to comprehend what it implied, but as of now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. She turned to face the muscular man supporting her and placed both hands on his short beard covered cheeks. "I need you to promise me something", she said her voice slightly wavering. "If I d…", she started. "If I go to Sovngarde… I need you to promise me you will not try to follow me". He kissed her dark lips before answering in a voice hoarse with emotion. "I promise I won't follow love". She looked reassured by his answer as she kissed him back deeply. He pressed her strongly against him, running his fingers through her hair before they broke up the embrace. Looking at each other, they both took out their weapons and, crouching, made their way to the stone bridge. In his mind, Ralof amended his last statement. "I will not follow love, because the only way you end up in Sovngarde is if I'm already there, waiting for you".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gogil: Goblin
> 
> Alduinfeyn: Alduin's bane


	14. Chapter 14: Alduinfeyn

The decaying mage crumbled, the scaled armour exploding as the body turned to ashes. Ralof let out a loud sigh, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. To say it had been an exhausting day was a euphemism. Just like after their battle with Alduin, he could hardly feel his arms anymore. Luthien had healed his wounds more time than he cared to recall, straining as she used her magical energy to its very limit. As the day went on, he had noticed how her arm trembled as she pulled the bowstring taut. Their enemies had been numerous and powerful. The last retreat of Alduin was, of course, well defended. Yet, on one point they had been lucky. The dragons, coiled on the battlements, had not attacked them. Their eyes had followed their every moves not like a predator stalks its prey; more with the respect of a soldier gazing at his superior. "Alduinfeyn" they had all greeted them, or more precisely Luthien, as Ralof suspected. The two exhausted lovers were now standing between two of those large winged beasts, one golden and the other snow white, the ashes of the skeletal priest blowing away at their feet. The Nord's strong hand lightly closed around the grey wrist of his companion as she attempted to pick up the heavy looking staff from the pile of broken armour.

"We need to rest love", he said gently. "Come, sit with me".

"I have to… ", she attempted to say in a tired voice before he interrupted her.

"I know, but we need to rest first. We can barely stand". Saying these words, he brought her to the top step of the stairs next to the wall atop of which sat the golden dragon and sat, guiding her down next to him. Bringing her close to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder and his on her head he uncorked a tall green vial.

"Drink", he told her, placing the bottle in her hands. Her lack of rebuttal was slightly unnerving, yet none the less welcome; he did not have the energy to fight her now. She drunk half the bottle before handing it to him. "Drink", she mimicked and he complied with a light chuckle.

The potion shared, they dozed off, one supporting the other, their backs to the dark wall, the whole empty city bellow their feet.

They woke up a few hours later as the sun was setting over the mountains. They allowed themselves a little more time to hold each other, more than ever aware that this could very well be their last moments together. Finally, Luthien rose from their comfortable embrace and went to pick up the heavy bronze staff. As her delicate fingers closed around it, she looked back to Ralof. The strong blond Nord was summarily sharpening his sword and axe, his muscled arm expertly handling the whetstone in order to restore his weapons to their former glory. His handsome face was pulled in concentration. In the dying light, his hair dimly glowed gold, undulating in the light breeze. Though he was not smiling now, she could recall how he raised his head from his work to express tenderness, his face beaming with kindness. How his eyes shined when he laughed. How blue these eyes were; as if a piece of the winter sky had gotten trapped in them. How he was always so thoughtful with her… How she would miss him. Shaking her head briefly as to banish these thoughts, she began her ascent to the closed portal. The staff smoothly sunk in the stone receptacle and the circular stone carving began to crack, allowing pure white light to filter through, illuminating the quickly falling night.

The sudden change in lightning alerted him that something was happening. Quickly lifting his eyes from his sharpened sword, he saw the lithe form of his lover, engulfed in the light. Not bothering to pick up his backpack, barely sheathing the sword in its leather scabbard, he ran toward her. She was placing a foot in the now fully opened portal when he caught her arm and pulled her back on solid ground. She had been crying, he thought, as he noticed smudged dirt on her face. "Don't go just yet little elf", he pleaded, his voice breaking against his will. "Ralof…", she began in an equally cracking voice, but she was interrupted by the Nord. "We could have been happy, right? In Cyrodiil", he asked. "Yes", she whispered.

She had allowed herself to imagine their life in the Imperial Province. Somewhere near Cheydinhal they would have a little house. She would work in a bakery like the Argonian lady of her childhood; she would leave all the fighting to others. He could enlist with the Guard. They would spend their free time next to the river splitting the town in half like her Altmutii had told her so much about. They could maybe, if he wanted, adopt a child. Tell him stories before bedtime. She would learn to cook. He would build toys… It would have been great.

Ralof tasted the salt on her lips as he tenderly kissed her, holding her close to him. He pulled her along with him as he dropped in the well of light.

Had it not been for the low chanting and the marvelous sky. They could have believed themselves to be in a field near Riverwood. The air was crisp, yet the temperature was mild. The wind was calm, just sufficient to make the grass undulate and carry the flora's fresh smell. Distant waterfalls could be heard as background noise. The cobblestone path they were standing on disappeared a few meters before them, swallowed by an eerie mist. Luthien had no doubts they were in Sovngarde. She had seen it countless times in her dreams. She could not feel Alduin's presence, though she felt dread seize her entrails. Her small grey hand quickly found the large warm one of her companion and weapons at the ready they stepped through the mist. A Nord in Imperial armour crossed their path and Ralof almost jumped in front of his beloved before remembering that, being in Sovngarde, he was merely seeing a soul and not a bellicose enemy. As they progressed down the path, they saw a man, running toward them in Stormcloak armour. The two lovers halted as he blocked their way, informing them that the Hall of Valour was impenetrable. "Alduin feeds of the souls who dare approach", he added before continuing on his away towards the mountains.

"Do you think I'll get to see my Ma and Pa", said Ralof, hopeful as they neared the Whalebone Bridge, leading to the Hall of Valour.

"I hope they got here before the mist", whispered Luthien, before adding in a more resolute tone, waving her hand angrily in an attempt to see through the fog, "Let's see if I can do something about this". Her voice rang like thunder in the melodic atmosphere and the white veil parted around them, bowing to the strength of her Thu'um.

If the man standing resolutely in front of the Whalebone Bridge had seemed small from afar he now towered a good three heads above Ralof. Luthien, despite her best attempts at straightening herself, was at the most as high as his belly button. He was taller than any human she had ever encountered and seeing Ralof's slacked jaw, he was probably thinking something similar.

Unbeknownst to Luthien, her strong companion, raised in Nord culture, was aware of the legend of Tsun, the Guardian of the Hall of Valour. He knew the giant standing mere meters in front of them would have to be brought down to his knees before allowing them entrance. Knowing that, he silently prayed to Talos to grant him strength and courage. He had sworn to protect his little elf against any enemy, including Alduin, and he was not about to let her down. Yet he was aware that they was at a serious disadvantage. He secretly hoped he would be allowed to fight for Luthien's entrance. Seeing her so small, barely reaching the giant's waist, he feared for her life. He had seen her fight dragons, yet he still felt very protective of her.

The giant half-God was incredibly polite with them, asking in his booming voice by which right they claimed entrance in the Hall of Valour.

"I claim entrance as Dragonborn", responded Luthien, straitening her back proudly. She was very glad to feel Ralof's warmth through their joined hands. She honestly didn't know how she would have managed to get where she was all by herself. They were each other's strength, determination, and salvation.

"Warrior test?", asked Luthien briefly before she was thrown to the side. Ralof had anticipated the giant's move and quickly took the Dunmer's place to fight for entrance. The first blow, dealt with the massive war-hammer, nearly disarmed him and chipped his sword's steel blade. There's no way the tiny woman stood a chance against such brute force. Truth be told, Ralof knew he didn't really stand much of a chance either, but he hoped to weaken the guardian as much as possible to make it easier for his little elf. The heavy weapon landed where his foot had been a second before, creating a crater in the dirt, sending sand and gravel flying. Quickly side-stepping to the left, he freed the axe from his belt: double wielding wasn't his forte, but he definitely needed all the steel power he could get. The blond man managed to hit the guardian's arm, drawing blood. However, he wasn't quick enough to avoid the powerful handle thrust that connected with his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground. Tsun was about to raise his hammer once more when he suddenly tensed and turned away from the strong Nord. Ralof noticed an arrow protruding from his right shoulder blade, blood dripping on his pale skin. A few meters away stood Luthien, courageously notching another arrow on her heavy bow. Steadfast despite the half-God charging toward her, she looked like Kyne the Warrior-Wife. He saw her release the arrow and roll to the ground to avoid the heavy hammer that was aiming for her head. Her voice, barely audible above the mysterious chanting, cloaked her in fire, searing the nearby grass.

Picking himself up, Ralof charged the giant with a fierce battle cry. They clashed, the sound of steel echoing in the mist. On a reverse thrust, he managed to cut the giant's inside thigh before he had to roll to the ground once more to avoid the deadly weapon. If that didn't bring him down, he didn't know what would. As a Stormcloak, he had seen his fair share of battle-wounds and knew that cuts in that area tended to be fatal due to blood loss. Luthien chose that exact moment to jump, dropping her bow to the ground, and wrapped her legs around the giant's neck. The flames still dancing on her skin burned the pale flesh as two large, powerful hands seized her thighs attempting to release their hold. Ralof stared as Tsun fell to his knees, choking, despite his best attempt at dislodging the lithe Dunmer. The booming giant's voice was barely a whisper as he wielded to the two lovers.

The flames flickered on her skin before dying out and Luthien released her hold and rolled away from the defeated guardian. It took the colossus only a few seconds to stand and agree to unlock the gate to the Hall of Valour. His wounds were nearly healed as he guided them across the Whalebone Bridge.

As Tsun pushed the tall oak doors, the two newcomers witnessed what no other mortals had ever laid eyes upon. Built with stone, the Hall suspended above the waterfalls was astonishing. The ceiling was higher than any castle, with walls adorned with long windows overlooking the misty water below and the starry sky above. Hundreds of Nords were joyously dining in what looked like the largest banquet room ever created. Enormous beasts were roasting on the fires between the tables, the smell of sweet mead, fire, and roasting meat was encompassing. Different bards were playing lively music all around the hall, entertaining the lucky souls who had made it in time to avoid Alduin's wrath. Luthien was mesmerized by the size of the construction. The barrels stacked along the walls were roughly the size, if not bigger, than the shack she had grown in. She was so engrossed in her observations she barely noticed her lover letting go of her hand.

"Ma… Pa", shouted Ralof as he ran toward a beautiful woman with greying hair and a tall, strong lumberjack standing together next to a large window overlooking the waterfall. Turning at the sound of his voice they embraced him heartily, shedding a tear as they caressed his wrinkle-less face. "Don't take this the wrong way son, but we would have been very happy to wait for you another good long while", said the woman.

"Don't cry yet Ma. I'm not dead", he responded with his usual cheer.

"I hate to break it to you son, but this his Sovngarde", said his father, showing him the great busy hall they were standing in.

"Please Pa, let us not talk about details", laughed the younger man, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'm so happy to see you both here".

Three imposing warriors walking toward her broke Luthien's contemplative state. She instantly recognized them from the time-wound vision where she had learned the Thu'um to bring down Alduin. They were the three Dragonborn heroes who had saved the world from Alduin's destruction the first time; Hakon, a muscular warrior who had lost an eye in battle; Gormlaith, a fierce Shield Maiden and Felldir, a Greybeard of old. Humbled by their presence, the little elf kneeled to greet them.

"You found a sweet Nord woman", rejoiced Ralof's mother loudly.

"She not Nord Ma", corrected the blond man, slightly nervous. "She's Dunmer". His parents remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, surprise showing on both their faces.

"But how did she get in", said the woman, worry showing on her face. She hoped her son would not be separated from his beloved for eternity. Sovngarde was, after all, the Nords' afterlife. She was not well versed in Dunmeri culture, but she assumed they had their own.

"She was granted access by Tsun himself", he explained and his mother's face relaxed before showing worry again.

"We heard there was trouble outside the gates. About Alduin devouring the souls of the deceased", she inquired.

"Keep it to yourself, right", supplied Ralof with a childish grin, stepping closer to his parents as if to share a secret. "She's Dragonborn", he whispered.

Hearing his parents gasp in surprise, the warrior turned toward the great entrance and motioned for Luthien to come and join him. She seemed to be involved in a very serious conversation with three fierce-looking warriors but acknowledge his invitation

"She came for him, didn't she", asked the older man gravely, "to fight Alduin". Hearing that, the woman's eyes opened wide, clutching her husband's hands in hers.

"Yes. That's why we're here", supplied the soldier seriously. He truly wanted his parents not to worry about the fight, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would bring them peace of mind. "You fight with her?", whispered his mother. He answered her with a nod as Luthien jogged toward them after finishing her discussion.

"Luthien, Hans and Lisell, my parents", introduced Ralof.

The tiny elf was warmly greeted by the same bone-crushing hug Gerdur had given her on their first encounter by the two proud parents. Unfortunately, they had very little time to get to know each other. Wishing she could spend more time conversing with her lover's parents, the lithe Dragonborn had to cut the discussion short as Alduin's powerful wings flapping outside reminded them of their mission. She made her way to the doors where the three Dragonborns were waiting for her.

"I'm so proud of you son", said the aging woman. "Do be careful all right. I intend to be a grand-mother you know".

Chuckling with teary eyes, reluctantly parting for her embrace, Ralof told her, "You already are Ma. Gerdur and Hod, they have a son, Frodnar. He's nine".

Smiling with pride, the man quickly hugged his now weeping wife in his arms, doing his best to remain stern-faced, as he mouthed his thanks to his son for sharing the long-awaited news. Quickly turning toward his lover, the warrior spared one last glance to his parents before running toward the entrance door.

They had reached the firm land, on the other side of the bridge, where Tsun watched them mount their defence when the warriors noticed two newcomers.

"Ma, Pa, you can't fight with us. Neither of you is a warrior", exclaimed Ralof as his parents took place in the half-circle alongside the legendary warriors.

"Ralof of Riverwood, you saw Tsun. You know like me the Guardian does not grand entrance in the hall unless you are proven worthy in battle. We made our way in your father and I. We stand with you and it is final. We will protect Sovngarde for our children and grandchildren", replied his mother in a stern tone he had not realized he missed so much.

"Yes Ma", he replied sheepishly, lowering his head as he used to when he was a boy before adding, "Now I remember whom Gerdur gets that tone from. No way to argue with it".

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the four Dragonborn lightly chuckled as they allowed the reinforcement to join their ranks. This would be a mighty fight; they were all aware of this. The ones to fall would not get up again. There was no coming back from being devoured by Alduin in the afterlife; the soul was simply gone forever.


	15. Chapter 15: Sovngarde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit

Alduin's voice rumbled in the mist. Her dream was coming true. She knew she should have been scared, but her mind was calm. Deep down, that fight was already won; it was Akatosh's Will. She extended her hand toward Ralof who clasped it in his firm grip. He looked worried despite his best attempt at hiding it. She gave him a small smile before turning toward the mist and letting go of his hand.

"We cannot defeat our foe in this mist", said the Greybeard.

"We should clear the sky", supplied the Shield Maiden. "Unite your voices"

The four Dragonborns shouting in unison was truly a moment that should be sung about for years to come and carved in stone. The Dragon's voices, trapped in their chests, echoed in the mountains, eclipsing the chanting and the waterfalls, piercing the veil of mist.

"Ven Mul Riik", replied Alduin in the sky. Instantly, the mist swallowed Sovngarde again.

It came back twice before they finally managed to break the World-Eater's will. The tension was palpable as the black nightmare appeared in the sky and landed in front of them, his smoldering eyes of embers glowing as he gazed at them.

He seemed somehow less intimidating here, in Sovngarde, then in her dreams. He was still tall as a mountain and seemingly made of rock, but she knew deep down that his fate was sealed; he would fall this day. Her train of thoughts was abruptly interrupted when the World-Eater took flight and breathed fire on them. She could feel the scorching heat as she rolled away from the blast hoping her fellow fighters would come out of it unscathed. She could also feel the souls of the Dragons boiling inside her, wishing to reply to their former leader's speech. When her lips enunciated the words, it was with the force of many Dragon's voices that the Shout hit Alduin. Suddenly crippled, the incomprehensible mortality crushing down on him, he landed heavily on the grassy plain.

As soon as he was down, the Dragonborns of old started attacking the rocky beast. Ralof's parents and himself were also lending a hand, making sure to stay out of reach of the powerful jaws and deadly tail. Luthien repeated the shout that maintained the beast to the ground as soon as the Dragons' souls inside her allowed her to do so, preventing the World-Eater from taking flight and raining fire upon them. Slowly, their weapons managed to damage the jet-like scales until the tumultuous lava inside could no longer be contained. The cracks in his thick rock-like skin widened, the light seeping through them making it hard to look at. The heat spiked momentarily as Alduin, the World-Eater, exploded in a terrible roar. The triumphant warriors had to shield themselves from the slag that flew away from the dying Dragon. When all went quiet, they noticed the grass, that had once been lush and green, was scorched beyond recognition. Luthien was very surprised to not find herself bathed in light as Alduin's soul left his body. That being said, he had never been a regular Dragon. She giggled at the thought. When had she become so accustomed to slaying Dragons that she could classify them as regular?

There were no shouts of victory or joy as the heroes contemplated their victory but a sense of duty accomplished and a warm feeling of safety. No souls would have to be devoured by the nightmarish beast; the fallen would be free to enjoy Sovngarde and Tamriel would be saved from annihilation.

Ralof said one last goodbye to his parents before rejoining Luthien who was talking quietly to the Dragonborns. She had apparently been taught to call forth one of them to fight alongside her in times of need. Seeing as they were fearsome warriors, Ralof was relieved to know she had such an impressive ally at her disposal.

It wasn't long before Tsun came to see them.

"Thank you Dragonborn", he said. "You have made Sovngarde a safer place for the fallen. It will be my honour to meet you again when your time comes".

At the mention of her death, Luthien felt Ralof's arms circle her waist and press her close against his side. He wasn't about to lose her anytime soon if he had any say in the matter.

"You too", added the giant demi-God, speaking to Ralof. "I will be honoured to meet you again. You have shown tremendous courage accompanying the Dragonborn in her destiny. I wish you both a long full life", he continued. "But your time hasn't come yet, and it is time for you to go back to Tamriel. Are you ready?" he asked them

Luthien leaned against Ralof in exhaustion. Lifting her head to look him in the eyes to check with him she acquiesced. "We're ready, take us home".

"We did it", she breathed tears of relief, exhaustion, and joy escaping from her white eyes as she gazed at the Dragon filled sky.

"We did it", she repeated, burying her head on her lover leather-covered torso. Ralof was speechless at the sight before him. After Helgen, after his time in Dawnstar and the adventures with Luthien, he knew Dragons were not only a creature of legends but beasts made of flesh and bones roaming the world. He had never thought, though, that they could be so numerous. Surrounding them, circling the Throat of the World, there must have been a hundred flying monsters wailing as they flew away. Had it not been for Luthien's relieved sobs he would have thought their end near. The beasts did not attack them despite his fears and slowly went back to whence they came from. He held her close to him, rubbing her back as she cried while the dragons took their leave one after the other, rejoicing at their leader's demise.

The fights of the last days had taken their toll out of him and he could barely remain standing now that the stress began fading. He felt his knees give and the two lovers found themselves on their backs in the snow, limbs entwined as they gaze to the blue sky.

This is how the Greybeards found them, passed out, as they reached the mountain peak. They had felt the dragons' voices rejoicing at Alduin's defeat and had made their way to the summit, hoping to find the Dragonborn alive. Quickly paying their respect to their ancient leader, perched on his wall, they silently grouped around the heroes lain in the snow. They shared a few looks before setting themselves to the task of bringing the two warriors back in the warmth of High Hrothgar. Wulfgar opened the way for them, shouting the harsh blizzard away as Arngeir carried Luthien, cradled preciously in his arms, followed by Borri and Einarth carrying the unconscious Ralof.

Luthien woke up first, disoriented. She had no memory of reaching High Hrothgar after the final battle against Alduin. She remembered slowly succumbing to sleep in her lover's warm embrace under Paarthurnax watchful eye. Sitting straight in the bed, she realized she was naked except for a few clean bandages and a heavy bear pelt. In the darkness she noticed someone sitting next to her bed. Quickly pulling the fur to her chest she asked, "Who's there". The quiet rumbling of Borri's voice greeted her and she felt a weight being lifted from her shoulders; she was amongst friends. The little elf patted the mattress at her side, expecting to find her trusted Nord next to her. Finding no trace of his warmth she turned toward the Greybeard questioning, "Ralof? Where is he?"

She was glad to see Arngeir enter the room, as she knew the other men had made vows of silence and could not answer her question.

"He is resting Dovahkiin", said the old man in a calm voice. "Despite your healing, his body was weak when we found you both. He needs rest".

"I want to see him", she pleaded, wrapping the pelt around her lithe body and pulling herself up.

"Very well, replied the old man. He silently led her through the dark stone corridors until he stopped next to a candlelit room. Stepping inside, she could see both Borri and Wulfgar busy next to the sleeping blond man. He looked paler than usual, dark circles beneath his eyes. He too had a few bandages on him, covering the smaller wounds she had deemed too shallow to deserve magical healing. The Dunmer made her way to the immobile form of her lover, placing her small hand on his large bandaged shoulder. Joining her by his side, Arngeir said, "It took us a while to understand why he was not getting better despite our care. We had to reopen a wound on his shoulder that had gotten infected. An arrow shard was healed inside the skin". Sensing the woman's distress he added, "He will recover, but he will need rest for some days to allow the herbs and potions to take effect".

It was nearly summertime when they left High Hrothgar a week after their return from Sovngarde. Yet, the snow was eternal this high on the mountain and the cool wind made Luthien shiver as they began their trip to Cyrodiil. They had agreed to avoid the roads as much as possible as it would allow them more intimacy. After risking their lives so many times neither of them wished to be kept apart by Nord's beliefs. Ralof was also terribly anxious that they would be recognized by a Stormcloak patrol or sympathizer, which would most likely lead to their capture, his death, and Luthien's forced marriage to the despicable Ulfric Stormcloak. He did not have the strength to tell her of his former leader's plans and hoped that they would manage to remain unseen.

He had always hated the thaw in spring; the wet soil, the treacherously half-frozen waters that could easily give beneath a man's weight and trap him to his death. Yet, seeing his little elf so excited about the snow disappearance was quickly changing his view on this period of the year. She seemed to have an eternal smile plastered on her face as the warm wind blew and the sun beamed. Their boots were drenched after their long walks in the wilderness and barely dry when they put them back on in the morning. They had to sleep on hard stone to avoid the constantly wet forest soil. The days were warm but the nights were still treacherously cold and sometimes even brought a thin dusting of snow, though much less than earlier in the year. Being together was also a big perk of their traveling arrangement. No matter how hard the stone or how cold the night, they had each other's arms and warmth. Deprived for so long of the opportunity to express their love for each other, they were rarely apart for long.

They made camp near the Autumn Watchtower, at the foot of the Jeral Mountains. They would camp there for a few days while replenishing their provisions. Being a former Stormcloak Officer, now deserter, Ralof knew there was no military camp, except an Imperial one in the vicinity. They would, therefore, be able to light a fire, cook fresh meat and smoke the rest to take as rations for their trip over the mountains. They would have time to tan a few pelts to protect them, especially Luthien, from the cold and the snow they would have to endure on their way to Cyrodiil. If Luthien's memory served, by keeping due south from there, they would reach Bruma in about two weeks. From there, they would follow the Silver, Red, and Blue roads and finally reach Cheydinhal.

The deer cooked slowly over the fire, its skin stretched to dry. The moons were already high in the sky, stars shining brightly on the dark sky. Luthien was gathering dry wood to keep the fire burning through the night while Ralof did his best to keep his attention on the roasting meat. Since their return from Sovngarde, his little elf had been adamant that he needed to rest as much as possible. She was the one hunting, setting camp, preparing the game, she fussed every night about the state of his bandage, cleaning the nearly healed skin with undivided attention and, above all else, she insisted he avoided any kind of exhaustion. To the tall Nord's greatest deception, this included intercourse. She had explained numerous times that he would reopen his injuries and that the infection would return. He decided this nonsense would end tonight.

He removed his armour as he did every night to allow her to tend to the wound, sitting on a blanket next to the fire so she could see properly. She began removing the bandages with the utmost care, her moon-coloured eyes riveted on the healing tissues. Normally, he would sit still, allowing her to check thoroughly for signs of infection before applying a salve and binding the shoulder again. This time, Ralof stopped her as soon as the thin linen dressing was removed. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her in a languorous kiss. She tried to pull away, but he held on to her, lowering her to the rocky ground.

"Ralof stop", she protested, attempting to push him away. "Ralof, your wound", she managed to say in a wavering voice as he nibbled on her pointy ear.

"To the Void with my wound", he said against her neck. "It's healed, I feel, good… very good", he added while removing her armour. It had been a while since their last time; he was going mad. They were together, the both of them, away from prying eyes and a simple scratch would keep him from making love to her? It simply would not stand. "Ralof, don't", she pleaded once more forcing him to retreat. "What is it love", he asked worriedly. He had not meant to force himself on her, but he might have been a little too eager and feared she might have perceived it as such. "I was careless with your wounds once before and it nearly cost you your life, I will not make the same mistake again", she said, worry showing in her tone. "Careless?", he exclaimed, "You were not careless love! You did the best you could. We were fighting eighteen hours a day".

"And my best was not enough", she replied, nearly shouting. "You were so white on that bed Ralof, I was so scared. I thought I had lost you. After everything we have been through, to lose you to infection! All because I had forgotten a piece of the arrow inside your shoulder!" She was crying at this point, the tears shining with the vacillating firelight. "I won't allow it to happen again, I was so scared", she added, hugging him, her tears falling on his naked chest. "I'm here love, very much alive", he whispered against her white hair. "The wound is healed and I don't need another bandage. I need you Luthien", he breathed. "Talos, I want you so much", he finished, resuming his kissing and wiping her tears tenderly. It took some coaxing, but she agreed to abandon the thoughts of infections and salves to focus her attention on more lively matters.

She ended up kneeling across his lap, standing up only long enough to remove her leather pants while he removed his, still sitting on the blanket next to the fire. When she resumed her previous position, her naked groin against his, they both drew in a sharp breath. She brought her hand to his manhood, caressing the hot flesh. His hands, gripping her hip, ground her increasingly wet intimacy against his until he could take it no longer and slipped one, then two calloused fingers inside her. She moaned at the intrusion anticipating what would soon follow as his tongue caressed her ears and neck. "I love you Luthien" was the only notice he gave her before roughly impaling her. She whimpered with both pleasure and surprise as he filled her completely, holding her still and tightly against his strong chest. His hands caressed her back, gripping her hips nearly to the point of bruising, keeping her close to his feverish body as he rocked inside of her. He could hear her moan and breathe hard against his neck as he kissed her ears and ravenously made his way to her small supple breast. Not as sensitive as the delicate pointy cartilage of her ears, they were still the source of very pleasant sensations. His mouth latched on a dusky nipple as she arched her back to allow him better access. His blond beard was tickling deliciously the tender skin as his tongue caressed the hard fleshy nub. He heard her gasp and felt her hands tighten their grip in his hair as he softly bit it. She was very close, he could feel it as she trembled in his arms, and so was he.

Unfortunately, this bliss came to an abrupt end. Unbeknownst to them, their camp was located less than a kilometer from a Stormcloak encampment and it was precisely this moment that the soldiers, hidden in darkness, chose to launch their attack. Before she had time to understand what was happening, Luthien was roughly pulled from Ralof's embrace and gagged. She tried to fight, kicking and trashing against her opponents, but they were three Nords of strong built and she was, despite being Dragonborn, but a small, naked elf. Ralof gave the four men who came at him a little more trouble, punching them hard and tackling one of them to the ground with a fierce battle cry. He had almost reached his sword when a hard blow behind his head rendered him unconscious.


	16. Chapter 16: Going Against My Will Is Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:
> 
> Please note that this chapter contains delicate subjects such as sexual assault and rape, and could be triggering for some people. The two targeted parts are between the ---.
> 
> Explicit

She woke up disoriented in a warm stone room adorned with blue tapestries. Despite the two braziers beside the bed she was laying on, she shivered. She knew that room, it was the "first door on the left" right next to Ulfric's. She had somehow been brought back to Windhelm. She had been drugged; it was the only plausible explanation, for she had no memory of the weeklong journey from their camp near the mountains. Her movement were still sluggish and her mind was groggy from whatever decoction she had been fed. She knew to the core of her being that she should be doing her utmost to flee, yet she could not coordinate her movements to do so. Panic started rising in her chest. She could not be helpless against a man again, especially that man. This feeling of powerlessness always brought her back to the Captain's cabin and the things that were done to her there made her shiver in fear. She had managed to become less jumpy around men since she had met Ralof, but Ulfric she did not trust. She had to get out of there and quickly.

There was a guard inside her room, next to the door. She tried to feign sleeping to avoid rousing his suspicions, but it was in vain; he had seen her open her eyes. The man knocked on the door softly and, talking through the door to someone outside, said in a wavering voice "She's awake". A few incredibly long minutes later the door opened, revealing the tall blond man she despised so.

With a wave of his hand, he motioned for the guard to leave him alone with the prisoner. For she had no doubt this was her current status. She might have been in a nice warm room, but she was no freer than a man locked in the dungeon. He walked slowly toward the bed with the assurance of a man who has the power and knows it. As he sat next to her on the mattress, so close her hip and thigh were in contact with his, and she tried to squirm away. He looked at her hands and smirked. Somehow that despicable expression led her to realize that she was bound to the bed. Sedated, she had been unaware of this situation, but now terror fully dawned on her. Thick leather manacles bounded both her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. Still groggy, there was no way she could do anything to protect herself against the Jarl. Tears of desperation rolled on her ashen cheeks against her will.

\---

"Yes, that's it Dovahkiin", he said the word with such disdain it felt like an insult. "Despite all your powers, you are still a little Ashborn girl", he whispered against her ear, his beard tickling the cartilage as his hand caressed her body lazily. "Scared of a man's touch", he emphasized the last word by placating a hard, cold, bruising kiss on the trembling lips of his captive.

Still sitting close to her, his hand absentmindedly exploring her small body he resumed talking.

\---

"My men caught you and my Officer in bed together. As you might know, he was aware of my impending marriage to you. Despite this, he went against my will and kept you for himself". He allowed the silence to fill the room and delighted himself on her expression when she realized what was in store for her before going on. "Going against my will is treason". His voice dropped and stabbed her as an ice-cold sword. "And as you now know, treason is punishable by death".

The distraught little elf tried to protest but her best effort produced only a guttural and incoherent moan. As soon as the noise left her throat, the Jarl backhanded her roughly, leaving a quickly forming bruise on her cheek and a taste of blood in her mouth. "Silence when I speak Elf!" he shouted, irate of her weak attempt at a retort. "The only thing you get to decide is whether, tonight, I announce my marriage and political alliance to the Dragonborn or sentence a traitor to death". He briskly stood up and, untying the restrains added, "You have until nightfall".

As soon as he was out of the room, the young Dunmer broke into racking sobs. Even the guard who had come back to his post took a few steps toward her in empathy before quickly backing away, probably remembering he was not supposed to act as such with prisoners, especially such powerful ones.

He had not even bother keeping her restrained. Clearly he wanted her to know that even freed, she would not dare go against him in order to protect the man she loved. Somehow, she could still feel the manacles on her lithe wrists and ankles even though they had been removed. Not only was Ulfric using her weakness against her, he already knew the outcome of this setup! He knew he was coercing her in the vilest way possible yet he was not even bothered by the idea. She felt so powerless.

As promised, he came back for his answer as the stars started appearing in the sky. He had his usual calm demeanor, that of someone who knows his superiority, and when he spoke, his low voice sounded like poisoned honey. "I trust you have made your decision Dovahkiin". He laced her title with disgust again, lessening it, as he took long purposeful strides until he stood in front of her, too close for her comfort. She would have backed away, but the cold stone wall to which she had unconsciously clung to as he came in was in her way. She could not look him in the eyes as she voiced her answer, so she locked her gaze on his boots. "I…", she began in a meek voice, before stopping for a split second. When she opened her mouth again, her white eyes were almost alight as they violently clashed with his. "FUS RO DAH", she screamed at him. She had not meant to resist him. Honestly, she had never been the fighting type, but his presence repulsed her in such a powerful way; she was not the weak little girl who had been abused in the Captain's quarters. She was Dragonborn, a descendant of Talos himself if Odahviing's words were to be believed; she was strong enough to resist him now.

Unfortunately, the Jarl had been trained, in his youth, in the art of the Voice rendering him more resistant to the Thu'um than the average man. Normally, he should have been knocked unconscious against the wall opposite, but he ended up flattened against it, fully conscious. Thus, as Luthien tried to dash out of the room, she had to brake mid-step to avoid being impaled on his drawn steel sword. She immediately began regretting her defiance as he seethed, towering over her, his face horribly deformed in anger, "You vixen!". Instinctively, she raised her arms to defend herself as he raised his arm, the pommel of his weapon aiming at her skull. The blow never came though. Actually, it came in a different form, much more painful as the Jarl spoke again. "You can lower your arms pathetic Ashborn. I warned you what would happen in case you refused me", he hissed. Realization quickly dawned on her as he hollered loud enough for the whole palace to hear him " Guard, fetch the Headsman".

The Dunmer woman felt as if all the air had been cleared from the room. The pain inside of her was so great it was comparable to that of the Dragon bite. The scream that escaped her mouth then would have brought anyone with a shred of conscience to tears, but not Ulfric. He grinned as the distraught elf fell to her knees before him, pleading. "Please, my Jarl. Please don't. I didn't mean… I'll do anything, but please, don't hurt him". The tears glistering on her dark grey face and the look of utter despair on her face were almost aphrodisiac for the Stormcloak leader. He looked in her eyes, gauging how far she was actually willing to go to show her repentance.

In his younger days, he brought many people to this same breaking point and enjoyed it. People were fragile he had noticed when the right pressure points were exploited. That desperate look in the weak's eye; he fed on it. The feeling of omnipotence that washed over him truly had no equal as far as he was concerned. In this state of mind, he stated his terms in a voice made hoarse in arousal to the quivering woman on the floor. "Submit to me".

His words, though menacing, brought her some form of relief; Ralof could yet live. She exhaled a breath she had not known she was holding and, as she did so, an out-of-breath guard barged in the room. "The Headsman is ready my Jarl", he spat out in one short breath.

Seemingly unfazed, the towering leader asked, in a voice so low it was barely audible, "Are you going to behave little elf?"

She shivered at the use of Ralof nickname for her and could not hold back her tears. She did not trust her voice to answer without breaking, so she nodded. This answer was not sufficient for the blond man as he suddenly grabbed her by the jaw and repeated the question, this time with more hatred. Her answer was barely more than a whisper, but this time it was apparently satisfying because the harsh calloused hand withdrew and the Jarl spoke once more. "Tell the Headsman his services won't be needed tonight", He put a little emphasis on the word "tonight", allowing the threat to linger as a Damocles sword.

\---

The door had barely closed when he grabbed her again, by the arm this time, dragging her to the bed in the middle of the room. She had not been given her armour back while in custody of the Stormcloak Officer and the light linen tunic she wore beneath it was short-lived as the fierce man tore it apart, exposing her scarred torso. The terrified Dunmer brought her arm to her chest, trying to protect a tread of dignity, but even that was robbed from her as the Jarl clicked his tongue twice. Though she tried to ignore it, she could see his arousal both on his bearded face and below his belt, tenting his pants. His eyes roamed every inch on her dark skin, his mouth opening slightly as his hands caressed the scars. She thought she heard him utter something in the line of "beautiful", yet it seemed to be the last thing such a man would ever say about a race he despised so much. The instant lasted an eternity for Luthien before he roughly turned her around and pressed her chest on the fur-covered mattress, knocking the wind out of her. "I don't want to see your face", he hissed between his teeth.

Talos! He really did not want to see her face. She had changed so much since their first encounter. The meek little girl in the cart, who would have died in the snow, would never have stood up to him as she did now. That girl did not have these hard, though delicate muscles flexing beneath her skin. She did not have these scars showing, if he dared think it, her bravery and her strength. Though she was not Nord by blood, she had grown to become a fierce warrior and the scars were a testimonial of her evolution. How he despised her for being Ashborn. Had she been a Nord she would have been perfect. Those dead white eyes, made puffy by tears, the arch of her brow, the pointy tips of her ears, were all clear reminders that his queen would not be perfect. And her small size! "How could a man enjoy himself with such a wee bit of a woman", he thought bitterly as he pulled her pants down briskly. At least she looked like a Nord 'down there' he sighed with relief. He did not know what he would have done had she been grotesquely deformed. Holding her in place with his left hand across her shoulder blade, he used his right one to pull himself out of his trousers. "Gods", he gasped as he plunged inside of her without warning. Beneath him, he could feel her tremble as she held on to the furs and muffled a scream in them.

When he was done, he exited the room, leaving her strewn on the side of the bed with her pants around her ankles, his seed, tainted with blood, dripping along her thighs.

\---

The next morning, when the maids came to dress her up, they found her naked, asleep with a tear-streaked face, huddled in the farther corner from the door, her thighs scraped raw, dried blood on her fingers.

Ralof was restless in the damp and filthy stone cell. Since their capture nearly ten days ago, he had not had any contact with Luthien. The camp Officer had kept him shackled, mildly sedated in a tent near the stable and his lover had been kept under constant watch, most likely heavily sedated in the Commanding Officer's tent. The reward for the Dragonborn's capture must have been a substantial one, he thought. How could he have been so careless! "I should have scouted the area before leading Luthien to the border", he chastised himself out loud. How could he have known his map was not up to date with the latest Stormcloak troop movements? He punched the slimy wall, immediately regretting his outburst, as the skin on his knuckles split open. He could only hope that his precious Luthien was being treated appropriately. Why was he even fooling himself, she was most likely facing Ulfric…and he knew what that meant. Despite his best effort in keeping his mind away from such thoughts he could not avoid remembering how the rebel leader treated the female prisoners. Split lips, torn clothes, screams… He shuddered at the thought, punching the wall once more, hoping the pain would distract him. He knew he would be taken to the chopping block shortly; it was the only plausible outcome after his act of treason. Despite all this, his only regret was that he had failed her. She was at Ulfric's mercy and it was his fault.

The next morning, he was kicked awake by the jailor. Quickly standing up, he ended up face to face with the Stormcloak leader. Before the jailor had the opportunity to interfere, his hands were around the Jarl's neck, choking the life out of him. It was far from the wisest thing to do in his situation, but the younger man had spent the night haunted by everything the rebel leader was capable of inflicting upon his lover and he wanted to put a stop to it one way or another. Moments later, the walls rumbled, the air took solid form and he ended up spitting blood; his head ringing from colliding with the jail cell's wall while the blond Jarl was straightening his fur cape. Looking at the fallen man with his usual bored expression he said "I come to you with good news Ralof", he allowed himself a little pause to rub his bruising neck, much to Ralof's pride, before continuing. "I'm getting married today", he said with a cruel smile on his face.

This time the jailor was ready and as soon as the blond warrior stood up, he punched him in the stomach with enough force to bring him back to his knees, vomiting bile. Chuckling, the older man kept on talking. "Did you really think you could escape me Ralof", he asked. "You have known me long enough to know that those who oppose me pay a steep price". By then, the prone blond man had no wish to encourage the Jarl by answering his taunt and kept his eyes riveted to the dirty floor. Unfortunately, the leader did not need any encouragement. "In your case, though, I'll be generous, I'll make an exception. After all, you have been a useful soldier in your time". As he slowly raised his eyes to meet the Jarl's he felt his blood freeze. Luthien stood next to the older Nord, escorted by Galmar Stone-Fist, the loyal Housecarl. She was dressed in a sumptuous blue velvet dress and, apart from the broken look on the face and a purple bruise on her cheek, she looked mostly unharmed. "Allow me to put it simply", said the Jarl. At this point, his voice was so cold it seemed the whole room had lost ten degrees. "The Ashborn will pay, in full, the consequences of your acts". He then turned to the careworn Dunmer. "Should either of you decide to take their own life, the other will die. And as for you, Ashborn, resist me and he will die; we discussed this in depth last night", he added chuckling.

The same day, on the pavement in front of the castle, with all the city's inhabitants and a large battalion of Stormcloak soldiers as witnesses, Maramal from Riften was to perform the wedding ceremony. The Old priest had seen his fair share of weddings. In fact, he prided himself with presiding over half the unions in Skyrim. He had witnessed thousands of different matches, brought together by love, money, political strategy, and convenience. The two interested parties, he felt, always received Mara's blessing in the end. She was a caring and loving Goddess and always made the best out of married couples. Today, he could clearly feel her anger. The groom, looking powerful and fierce, was filled with contempt as he clutched the bride's delicate hand in his. He knew that something was off the moment he saw them together, yet he could not refuse Ulfric's wish. After all, his niece was a member of the Stormcloak and he feared what might happen to her in case he refused. When she had delivered the letter summoning him to Windhelm, he had immediately felt the subtle threat. Like all Stormcloak sympathizer, she attributed his quick acceptance to her leader's charisma and remained oblivious of the threat his seal carried.

As he proceeded with the ritual, he had to concentrate to keep his voice from wavering. Despite his best efforts, a single tear ran down his wrinkled cheek when the little Dunmer, a large bruise marring her delicate features, agreed to bind herself with the Jarl. He did not feel Mara's blessing pass through him toward the rings as he handed them to the tall blond man and he felt her rage when, turning toward his people, the Jarl harshly kissed his wife as they cheered the union of Ulfric Stormcloak and the Dragonborn.

Had she not shed all the tears she possessed the night before, Luthien would have cried. Her fate was sealed; she was bound until death to this brute of a man who despised her and her kind. She feared what would become of her, but mostly, she dreaded what would become of Ralof.

Somewhere, lost in the crowd, surrounded by two palace guards, she noticed his golden locks. They were mattered with dirt and blood, but his blue and her white eyes met, both beaten and wounded. Their gaze seemed to last an eternity. In the brief second it actually lasted, Luthien's blood boiled. Ulfric's contempt really knew no bounds; forcing a broken man to witness his love marrying another was a new kind of low. Imprisonment, she thought, was not a life worth living for Ralof, and neither was a life bound to Ulfric for her. Something had to be done, and fast. She decided that attempting to rub both their misery in their faces by forcing them to watch one another be reduced to little more than walking corpses for his pleasure would be the terrible Jarl's undoing.

Through the stone courtyard, her voice rang loud and clear, making the stones rumble as did the Greybeards'. "Odahviing", she shouted to the sky as the people present at the ceremony started to run away in fear. Even Ulfric took a step back, releasing her hand, as her shout echoed in the city. The words were unknown to him, and thus he had no idea that to expect. Not wasting a second, she heard him unsheathe his sword as she started running toward her lover.

Her Shout had knocked his fighting spirit back into place. If his little elf wanted to rebel, well, against all odds he would stand with her.

Unlike everyone else in the city, he knew what was coming as soon as he heard her voice. He distinctively remembered the crimson and snow-white dragon that had flown them to Skuldafn. He knew reinforcement was coming, so he quickly jabbed the first guard in the stomach despite his bound hands and stole the sword he dropped as he kneeled in pain. He was unfortunately not ready to parry when the other guard lunged toward him sword first. He suddenly felt a sharp pain at his side. Since he was wearing a light tunic and not his customary leather padded chainmail, the guard's sword had sliced through his abdomen. Reeling from the attack, he heard Luthien scream; it was as loud as a Shout. She reached him just in time to break his fall as their dragon ally landed next to them noisily. Odahviing caught the palace guard in his maw, his bloody sword held loosely in surprise and threw him at the furious Jarl. The irate man tried to escape the projectile but ended up pinned under the dead guard.

"Luthien", gasped Ralof, in pain. "You have to escape now. Leave me behind; I would only slow you down".

Despite the urgency, the Dunmer replied, "You saw Skuldafn and Sovngarde against my will, and now you would stay behind? I don't think so".

With the help of Odahviig, she hoisted him on the Dragon's scaled back before climbing up behind him. "I'll make you see tomorrow, against your will if I have to", she finished as he passed out in her arms.

Under the terrorized gaze of the mob, a rain of arrows, and despite Ulfric's vociferations, the lovers escaped on the back of the crimson beast with white wings.


	17. Chapter 17: Northwind Summit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:  
> Please be advised that this chapter contains some delicate subjects, such as the mention of unwanted pregnancy, and could be triggering for some.

Ralof, unconscious against her, was getting too heavy for her to hold unto. Her hands were red with blood, seeping in a steady flow out of the wound, dripping on the Dragon's back and trickling down on the world below them. "Odahviig, he's losing too much blood, we have to land", shouted Luthien against the strong wind.

"The Throat of the World is close, can he make it there", roared the Dragon.

"I don't know", cried Luthien. "He's so white".

She felt Odahviig change course abruptly and gripped her unconscious lover tightly. "The wind is too strong, it's slowing my flight", he explained as he spiraled toward another rocky peak. "You can take care of him down there", he added. She could hear a faint chanting as they approached the old Norse Word Wall of Northwind Summit.

Suddenly, the red Dragon was forced to dive as a ball of fire was flown his way. "Jump", screamed the scaled beast as he reduced his altitude. Another Dragon, most likely guarding the Word Wall, was flying toward them, shouting fire on the intruders. A mere two meters above ground, the little elf rolled to the side, dragging her lover off Odahviing's back to the rocky mountain ground.

Trusting her ally to manage the fire-breathing beast, she dragged the tall Nord into the closest rundown shack and busied herself with Ralof's wound. In the whole confusion, she hadn't had time to properly examine it. Tearing the ragged shirt he was wearing, she evaluated the cut. It wasn't as terrible as she had first thought it to be, but it was severe. He was bleeding a lot, but it seemed the sword had cut through muscles and skin mostly, leaving the bowels and liver undamaged. Cursing loudly in Dunmeri as she realized she wasn't wearing her usual backpack and therefore had no healing potion, she summoned the healing power to her palm.

As efficiently as she could despite Ralof arching his back sharply in pain, she placed her hand on the wound and let the magical energy fuse the tissues back together. She pushed the spell until it faltered in her hand, mostly closing the wound and stopping the bleeding. She then tore the hem of the long blue wedding dress she was wearing and wrapped it tightly around her lover's abdomen, putting pressure on the wound despite his winces, making sure to stop any residual bleeding. The blond Nord's breathing was regular, if a bit shallow for her taste and he was as white as snow, but at least the wound was taken care of.

She almost stood up and ran outside to help Odahviig deal with the other Dragon when she realized, her bow was obviously not on her back. All her possessions had been confiscated by the Windhelm's guards upon her arrival to the city and she had not had the chance to acquire new weapons yet. Nervous and angry, she had to wait in the dilapidated shack with her unconscious lover as the two Dragons ferociously fought.

Before long, Odahviing was victorious, and, with one last bite to the other beast's neck, the fight was over. Luthien ventured out of her hiding spot and harvested the soul of the flaming carcass. Under the watchful eye of her scaled ally, she made her way to the stone wall and interiorized the meaning of the glowing word. Momentarily weakened she sat on a boulder and looked toward the red Dragon.

"Thank you for that", she told him, motioning to the skeletal remains. The beast graciously bowed his head and looked toward the shack where Ralof was laying. "He will need time to heal", answered the elf to the silent question. "When he wakes up, could you take us close to Riverwood?".

She didn't want to make the Dragon feel as if he was her mount, but with no supply, armour or weapon and both exhausted as they were, it would have been nearly impossible to reach a safe place.

"I'm yours to command Alduinfeyn", said Odahviing. She could hear in his voice and formal tone that he didn't particularly enjoy being use as a convenient ride, but that he would, regardless, do as she had asked.

The great Dragon landed a few kilometers out of Riverwood. It was a cloudy night and for that Ralof thanked Talos. His wound was still bleeding and very tender despite Luthien's magical intervention and, lightheaded as he was from the blood loss, he knew he would have been helpless in a fight. The darkness would make it easy for both of them to reach his sister's house undetected.

He still didn't know if it was the best place to hide and heal. After all, Ulfric knew of his family. Luthien had insisted that Whiterun was a mostly neutral city and that Stormcloak troops walking to Riverwood would be seen as an invasion warranting an armed response from the Legion. Open war wasn't in anyone's best interest for the moment, and as she put it, they had made a pretty dramatic escape from Windhelm that should dissuade Stormcloaks from attempting to capture them again.

It was a very sleepy Hod that opened the door after two rounds of loud knocks on Luthien's part. The walk to Riverwood, though mostly on flat terrain, had been exhausting. Indeed, Ralof was weak and couldn't walk properly as he had to keep the pressure on his wound to keep it from bleeding anymore, so the petite Dunmer had had to support a good portion of his weight as they painfully trudged toward the village. So when the door opened, she let out a loud sigh of relief, and Ralof fell to his knees, only to be caught by the surprised lumberjack.

"Gerdur", he whispered loudly. "Come quick".

"Oh Gods", gasped the Nord woman, covering her mouth to smother the sound.

"Help me take him to the bed", said her husband. He could feel Ralof's strength rapidly dwindling, as he grew limp in his arms.

The exhausted elf followed the couple inside the house as they carried her lover to the nearest bed. In the dying light of the hearth, he looked like a ghost. Hod, level headed, as usual, removed the tattered shirt and lifted the bandages slightly to have a closer look at the wound. During that time, Gerdur was digging through the cupboards for healing potions. They always had a couple of low potency ones in the house; working in a sawmill was dangerous work after all and the closest healer was many hours away in Whiterun. Since the Dragon attack, they had acquired two more powerful ones. Uncorking one of the tall red vials, she made her way to her barely conscious brother and, with Hod's help, got him to drink the clear liquid.

Seeing the wound slowly close and some colours returning to his face, Luthien allowed herself to collapse on a bench. They had made it. They were safe, at least for the moment. With the adrenaline finally subsiding, her situation hit her at full force; she was married. She was married to a man who despised her, who had raped her. She could still feel his bruising grip, hear his ragged breath, the wooden bed frame digging in her hips. She could remember the fear, the pain, how she had been incapable of moving, of fighting back. Covering her eyes with her clenched fists, she suddenly remembered the ring, an inconspicuous gold band, wrapped around her finger. It had to come off. Forgotten during their escape, it was suddenly burning her. She grabbed it with all her strength, nearly pulling her finger with it and threw it as far as she could.

She felt someone sitting next to her. It took all of her restraint not to lash out. Her mind was racing and she felt trapped in it, powerless to slow it down. A warm hand tentatively touched her back, rubbing soothing circles. She could hear herself gasping for air, breathing too fast and Gerdur's calm voice next to her, trying to get her to look in her eyes.

"In and out, slowly".

"Look at me Luthien".

"You're safe".

"Ralof is safe".

"In and out, that's it"

As soon as the potion had been administered, Gerdur turned her attention toward Luthien. She had seen her, out of the corner of her eye, collapse on the dining room bench. Her breathing was fast, tensed. Her eyes were glazed over. One thing was sure; she wasn't in Riverwood anymore. She called out her name but got no response. Seeing her fumble with her hands, she avoided the tossed ring and it hit the entrance door before rolling on the floor. Seeing how distressed the young woman was, she sat next to her. Remembering how Sven sometimes comforted Hilde when she was anxious, she started talking in a calm, soft tone: simple sentences, grounding touch, eye contact.

Slowly, her breathing became calmer, her shoulders relaxed, she lowered her hands and she was back in Riverwood. She accepted the green vial Gerdur was handing her and drank its content. While it didn't help her agitated mind, she could feel her strength returning. The exhaustion of the last few days leaving her, she noticed Hod bringing hot drinks to the table and sitting down across from her.

"When you're ready, if you want to talk, we're here", he told her, handing her a cup.

Nodding, and carefully taking a sip of the hot beverage, she began.

It was almost morning by the time she finished. True to their word, both Hod and Gerdur had listened, in silent shock, to her story. She had taken them all the way to Skuldafn, through Sovngarde, up the Throat of the World in the hope of making her stay in the frozen hell of Windhelm more bearable. Unfortunately, no epic tale could erase the horrors inflicted upon them and she had seen Gergur's sunkissed complexion turn ashen when she mentioned how Jarl Ulfric had gotten her to agree to the marriage. Hod, usually very stoic, had a look of pure hatred on his face as he held his trembling wife's hand. Her tale ended as she reached their door, a few hours earlier.

By that time, Ralof, still weak, had joined them at the table. All present were pained to see Luthien involuntarily flinch when he placed his hands on her shoulders to give her what would have normally been a comforting squeeze.

The next day went by quickly and without complication. Of course, Frodnar was ecstatic to see his uncle again and his mother had to remind him multiple times that their guests were tired and needed rest, lest the boy press them for stories. In the end, they sent him out to play with Stump and told him to watch out for patrols. As always, the boy took his mission very seriously and by suppertime, he was proud to report that no soldiers, other than the ones keeping watch over the village, had set foot in Riverwood.

The night was unfortunately not as restful as the day for Luthien. She kept thrashing in her sleep and mumbling, waking up often. Ralof, sleeping in a bedroll next to her, was attempting to comfort her as he had when she dreamt of Alduin. Unfortunately, his touch seemed to make matters worst. The little elf felt sullied. She had washed twice that day to no avail and somehow, she kept feeling like Ralof touching her was a bad thing. She knew he wasn't Ulfric. He wasn't trying to inflict pain. He only meant to reassure her as he had done before. She wanted to want him, but the Jarl's touch was still too alive on her skin.

"I'm sorry Ralof. I think I need to be alone", she told him as she rose from the bed.

"Sure", he answered, letting go of her. "I'm here if you need me".

Exiting the house noiselessly, she took a stroll around the village. Everything was so peaceful, bathed in moonlight. She could hear wolves howling in the mountains, trees swaying softly in the wind, and the constant flow of the White River relentlessly pushing the sawmill water wheel. With everything that had happened, she remembered she hadn't had time to try her latest shout. Hoping that getting rid of its meaning tossing in her mind would help her calm down, she whispered, "Laas".

She noticed she could see every living creature surrounding her. A pale aura highlighting the sleeping chickens, the squirrels in the trees, the guards patrolling the wall, Ralof, and his family in their beds and a deer bolting through the forest. Looking at the wildlife like this was taking her mind out of her current state of unrest. She whispered again, making her way to the river thinking that maybe she would be able to see some fishes, or perhaps the wolves she had heard earlier. The spectacle waiting for her was much different.

Now on the bank of the river, she could indeed see fishes, but she could also see her reflection shimmering on the water. She placed her hand on her belly as the light dissolved in the night. Her legs gave out and she ended up kneeling in the mud surrounding the White River. Wasn't it enough that she could barely tolerate Ralof's touch without being reminded of her time with Ulfric? How could Mara, or any deity, allow such a thing?

Unable to go back to sleep after that, she stayed out for the remainder of the night and went back to Gerdur's as the sun rose to prepare breakfast. She couldn't stand to stay idle with her thoughts anymore.

"We have to kill Ulfric", she said resolutely to Ralof as soon as they were alone.

"You didn't come back last night", he stated.

"I wasn't sleepy", she replied. Before he could say anything she added, "We need to head to Solitude. There we can join the Legion and bring him down".

"What about Cyrodiil", interjected the man. Something was wrong with Luthien, he could feel it in her cold snappy tone. Somehow her mood was much worst than it had been for the past day.

"He can't be allowed to continue with his warmongering. He has to be stopped", she spat, still avoiding his gaze. "Cyrodiil can wait".

She couldn't allow herself to think about Cyrodiil just yet. She couldn't even bear to look at her lover. Knowing what she had just learned, she felt sullied beyond anything she had ever felt before. Whether she wished it or not, a part of Ulfric was growing inside of her and there wasn't much she could do about it. Would Ralof still want her when he learned she was carrying the child of another? Was Cyrodiil even a possibility anymore? She didn't think so.

She knew she wouldn't be able to put the events of the past days behind her as long as the Jarl was still capable of inflicting pain.


	18. Chapter 18: Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:  
> Please be advised that this chapter contains some delicate subjects, such as the mention of unwanted pregnancy and abortion, and could be triggering for some.

Ralof was worried. They had been staying in Solitude for five weeks now, away from Ulfric's influence. They had pledged their allegiance to the Empire and vowed to destroy the usurper. Luthien had thrown herself in training like never before with very little regard for her own safety. She was exercising from sunup to sundown, and he had to coax her into eating a few bites every night.

The stamina potions were maintaining her, but barely. He was lacing her drink and food with it and some healing potions, hoping it would keep her healthy despite her self-destructive routine. He knew better than to press her for answers, but he knew it was because of her time with the Ulfric. She kept flinching away from his touch, jumping every time a man spoke loudly and she insisted on sleeping alone. When she did manage to fall asleep, she trashed in the furs, mumbled, and would often wake up suddenly, drenched in sweat.

He knew Ulfric had forced himself upon her, but he kept fighting that thought with all his might. He had followed that man in battle, dinned with him, laughed at his jokes, embraced his politics. Truth be told, he was ashamed of his old leader and of himself. How could someone inflict such torment on anyone? Such a despicable act, simply out of dominance, to beak the victim. That, unfortunately, wasn't beyond the rebel leader. It didn't help that he didn't consider the Dunmers as people to the full extent of the term. He blamed himself for ever bringing her close to that man, for getting them captured and being too weak to protect her from that monstrous man.

He knew Luthien needed time to heal from this horrifying experience and he was doing everything he could think of to help her.

Unlike the Stormcloak leader, General Tullius was concerned with the well-being of the Dunmer woman or at least of his newly acquired soldiers. Being an Imperial, he didn't believe in all the legends surrounding the title of Dragonborn, but he had seen dragons fly over Solitude and he had read many reports describing their vicious attacks on the province. He had never seen the so-called "dragonborn" fight the monsters, but throughout the reports, he had read the feats of arms attributed to the petite elf. He also knew, or more accurately deduced, the reason behind his newest members' change of allegiance. He chuckled lightly to himself. That rebellious oaf had managed to alienate his most powerful ally with his callousness.

"How typically Nord", he thought. He would not make the same mistake. Somehow, he had the feeling that whichever side managed to secure the famous "dragonborn" would turn out victorious in the end. The Nords were superstitious people after all. That was why he had granted the two warriors a comfortable room in Castle Dour and had momentarily relieved Ralof of his duty to stay at the Dunmer's side. He was very happy to see the woman was training intensively; she was quite frail-looking and he thought it would be good for the men to see her in action. After all, she would need to lead them into battle shortly; the Legion had acquired knowledge about the Jagged Crown's location and it was primordial they seized it before the Stormcloaks could get their hands on it, as it would further Ulfric's claim to the throne of Skyrim.

"Please Ralof, don't", said Luthien as he placed his hand on her shoulder. She was wary from an intensive day of archery, hand-to-hand combat, and sword practice. Every muscle in her body was stiff and painful. She wished for nothing else than a comforting hug from her lover, and maybe a hot bath. But she couldn't stand his touch; not while she carried her shame in her womb.

"Sorry Love", he added sheepishly. "I just want you to know I'm here for you".

"I know you are, but I can't…", she closed her eyes as words failed her. "I'm sullied, dirty", she finally whispered. "When you touch me… it's… unbearable".

Tears were running down her ashen cheeks and into the stew Ralof was trying to get her to eat.

"You'll never be sullied to me", replied the blond man earnestly. "He's the only one at fault here".

The bowl on the table flew to the ground and shattered, swiped away as Luthien stood up abruptly. "You don't understand. I… If you did, you wouldn't want to touch me either", she screamed. "I didn't fight him".

The door slammed shut before Ralof had time to reply and she was gone.

Luthien was angry, but mostly she was disgusted; by herself, by Ulfric, and by the thing growing inside of her. She refused to think about it, but couldn't get it out of her mind. As a little girl on the Imperial City Waterfront, she had heard about unwanted pregnancies. For all she knew, she was one herself. As much as she didn't want to think about it, she could understand why her mother had mostly entrusted her to Altmutti. The dreams and the Skooma didn't help, but she felt, deep down, she must have repulsed her like the fluttering heartbeat she had seen on the White River had repulsed her; a constant reminder of the Jarl's violence, of the horrible feeling of powerlessness and shame she still felt so strongly. She couldn't imagine carrying Ulfric's child. She didn't want the child to grow unwanted as she had. She didn't have a family to entrust the baby to and she knew a Dunmer baby wouldn't fare well in a Nord's orphanage. For all she knew, she might end up dead in the next few days; Legion life was dangerous and demanding.

She must have looked quite grim when she entered Angeline's Aromatics as the Breton owner quickly asked her if she needed a curative potion.

"I need a poison", replied the distressed elf.

"You are not thinking of murdering anyone, are you", asked the merchant, chuckling uncomfortably.

"I need to get rid of something that was forced on me", muttered Luthien. She feared the woman's reaction and avoided her gaze, but she couldn't face the pregnancy.

"Oh", simply replied the lady, her hand quickly covering her mouth in shock.

The silence that filled the room was so thick and uncomfortable that Luthien started to retreat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I'll…".

"I'm not! But I can't help you", interrupted the Breton in a hurried tone. "I'm just an herbalist". Seeing the pain in Luthien's eyes she added, "You could try your luck with Lami, in Morthal. She taught me everything I know".

"How long does it take to get to Morthal and back", inquired the elf.

"Well over a day on foot, but you could hire a cart to take you and be back before the evening tomorrow ".

Quickly making her way to the main gate, she tasked a legionary standing guard to let the Legate Rikke know she would meet the soldiers bound for Korvanjund at Dragon Bridge. The tall officer wouldn't be pleased with the Dunmer not following the orders issued to her, but she would tolerate it. There was even a chance she wouldn't mention her insubordination to General Tullius. She hid it well, but she was a Nord through and through, and believed in the power of the Dragonborn. As such she granted the legendary hero more leniency. Luthien suspected she might even wear an amulet of Talos when she went to battle.

Without further ado, she hired the only carriage available so late in the night and left for Morthal.

The driver, Karl, had been nice to her, allowing her to rest on the way and chit-chatting about the land they drove through when she awoke. Morthal, though officially a major city, was barely more than a village thought Luthien. With the sun merely peaking over the mountains, it was quite gloomy. The stagnant water of the marshes made the air humid and cold. There was a thick mist gliding above the water and engulfing most of the wooden houses. The swamps surrounding the city gave an unpleasant musty smell and the few guards patrolling looked suspicious of the newcomers. She understood, now, why the carriage drivers charged so much to ride there.

Shivering as she left the carriage and the warm wool blanket Karl had lent her, she decided to treat the both of them to a hot meal at the inn. She had left Solitude in a hurry and was only wearing the Imperial red, short-sleeved tunic, thin cropped leather trousers, a standard-issue utility-belt, and a pair of leather boots. She estimated it would be a few hours before the stores opened and she didn't fancy waiting outside. Her travel companion was an old man, and, she thought, being on the road overnight must have been hard on him. She had also requested he wait for her to take her back to Dragon Bridge when her business was concluded. The least she could do was to make sure his time spent waiting was spent in a comfortable place.

Though sitting in a remote corner, Luthien could feel the other patrons, eyes on her. She could hear whispers. She tried to ignore it and was almost successful, focusing on small talk with Karl and playing with her food, until a rude, possibly drunk, Nord approached their table and started insulting her.

"I'll be direct. I don't trust outsiders", he barked. Not leaving her a second to answer he continued. "Scrawny as you look, you would have us believe you're…", he quickly looked her over smugly. "…part of the Legion? I greatly doubt that".

As calmly and politely as she could muster, she replied. "Sir, I'm in no mood to argue with you. I promise I'll be on my way as soon as my business is concluded".

Oblivious to her annoyance, the Nord kept on going. "Business with our resident Mage no doubt. Up to no good I see".

Her patience running short, the Dunmer snapped and slammed her hand on the table. "My business is my own. Leave us alone". Her raised tone seemed to only ignite his spirit even more as he roared. "I challenge you, weakling. One hundred Septims says you can't beat me".

"Leave me alone", shouted Luthien, irate.

The old driver tried to interfere, but was pushed back down on his chair by the brawler. Quickly moving past him, he grabbed the lithe woman by the collar and dragged her outside.

He was still rambling about untrustworthy outsiders and his unofficial duty to safeguard the town when Luthien's fist connected with his stomach. The last five weeks of training seemed to have paid off; the loudmouth was finally silent, winded as he was. For once, the little elf was not afraid; she didn't need Ralof to stand by her, to shield her. The dark-haired Nord didn't know it yet, but he was about to serve as an outlet for all the angst that had been plaguing her.

The Nord must have made a habit of challenging travelers because the guards merely sighed as they started exchanging blows. Their movements were parting the remainder of the morning mist, the silence broken by the dull sound of their blows landing.

For a moment, her adversary was no longer a bulky, brown-haired Nord and the Dunmer pictured the cruel Jarl. She aimed to remove his grin, to make him kneel, to make him beg. The guards, unconcerned a bit earlier, started to make their way toward the brawlers. The Dragonborn was about to shout her adversary into submission when he yielded. Coming back to her senses as well, she was surprised to notice the damage she had inflicted on the man; his bottom lip was cut, one of his eye was starting to swell shut and he spat blood to the side before addressing her with admiration.

"You hold yourself quite well, Elf! I sorely underestimated you".

Luthien was about to apologize for losing her temper and letting her rage unfurl at him when he grabbed his purse and interrupted her.

"Here are the 100 Septims", he said, counting silently. Luthien was barely able to mumble her thanks before he interrupted her again.

"I am Benor", he added, extending an arm. "I assume a woman such as you must go on adventures around Skyrim. Should you need a sword at your side, I would be honoured to accompany you", he finished, clasping her arm in a soldierly handshake.

"I require no sword at the moment, thank you. I must be on my way now", answered the slightly stunned woman. Nords were a very strange people she decided. Giving a quick reassuring nod to Karl, who was worryingly watching the exchange from the Moorside Inn's door, she made her way to the potion store.

The Thaumaturgist's Hut seemed promising, thought Luthien, as she entered the store. Which is why she was so disappointed by her discussion with the owner.

"I can only give you a potion", said Lami. "There's nothing more I can safely do for you".

"Will it work", asked Luthien eagerly.

"I can make no guaranty", replied the thaumaturgist. "It works best when taken close to the event".

It had been a bit over a month since the escape from Windhelm. She had hoped starving herself would do the trick, but it had failed. The rough hand-to-hand training and sword practice had left her sore and bruised, but it wasn't enough either. She was becoming desperate.

"If it doesn't work, what can I do", uttered the elf.

"Nothing", sighed the merchant. "Anything beyond this potion would most likely kill you too", finished the Nord. "It's all in the hands of Mara from now on".

Luthien drank the potion as soon as she sat in Karl's carriage. She knew it was a bad idea to do so before going on a mission in a Draugr infested ruin, but she could delay no longer.

The road back to Solitude was as uneventful as had been the night drive. Unfortunately, the sky was covered and a very light, cold rain seemed intent on dampening her spirit even more. They were passing through Dragon Bridge when she asked Karl to stop the carriage. Further ahead on the road, she could see an Imperial detachment marching. In the distance, she could barely make out the steel of Legate Rikke's armour.

"I think our ways part here Karl", said Luthien to the old man. "It seems I am to lead a Centuria to battle", she added with gloom as she jumped off the cart.

She didn't look forward to commanding so many men. She had joined the Legion on a whim, to take steps toward the destitution of her rapist. She had hoped for an honorific title, being Dragonborn was apparently that big a deal in Skyrim, but she certainly hadn't expected to be given an actual detachment. She couldn't have known that General Tullius, while recognizing her value against the Stormcloak troops morale, was not one to grand titles without expectations. He had made her a Centurion upon her enrolment; she would have to prove herself to him to the full extent of her title.

Despite last night's insubordination, the Legate seemed pleased to see the Dunmer. She called forth a legionary who handed her a bag containing the newly appointed officer's light leather cuirass.

"Ralof made sure we took a quiver and a bow", she added. "Though it is highly unusual to have a commanding officer use one, I've been lead to believe it is your weapon of choice".

"Thank you, Legate", replied Luthien as she saluted her formally. She quickly looked at the eighty men assembled, hoping she would see her beloved Ralof amongst them.

"He is being dispatched to clear fort Snowhawk which has been overrun by bandits", supplied the dark-haired Nord sensing her elf question. "When they prevail, half the men will stay to guard the fort and another half will meet you at Korvanjund, should reinforcement be needed".

Their exchange concluded, Luthien quickly went to the barracks to don her armour. She was quite surprised when unfolding a spare tunic, an Amulet of Talos fell to the ground. Alarmed, she retrieved the jewel as fast as she could. Such a clear sign of Talos worship was after all a jailable offence. It was, however, of great help when shouting, as it seemed to make the channeling of the Dragons' souls even easier.

Ralof had given her his amulet back when they had parted ways in Windhelm, shortly after escaping Helgen. It was not that very same one, which had been lost during her capture, but she felt closer to him as she tied it around her neck and dissimulated it under her cuirass. She had an inkling she owed this surprise to the tall Legate, waiting with her Century outside.

As she stepped out of the barracks, she gave a quick nod to her superior as she discreetly touched the amulet's chain. The Nord's stern expression seemed to lighten. "Was it pride", wondered Luthien, as she made her way to the front of the detachment. Truth be told, she found Legate Rikke's attitude quite refreshing. She was obviously very attached to her Nord ways and proud of her heritage, yet she was not dismissive of people simply based on the fact they didn't share her beliefs or were of a different race. "If only more Nords were like her", she thought.

As she was about to depart for the ancient tomb with her troops, the Legate broke protocol and saluted her first, displaying as openly as she could her reverence for the legendary hero.

After making camp on the road two nights in a row, Luthien was glad to reach the Hall of the Vigilant. It seemed the warrior-priests had an agreement with the Legion; they offered hospitality to their troops and could count on the Imperial army when they raided large vampire covenants from time to time. She was exhausted; the army walked at a very brisk pace for long hours, the breaks were short and the potion effect had started shortly after leaving Dragon Bridge.

The cramping had been mild at first, nothing she could not handle, but the second day had been so painful she had to dig her nails on her palm to keep herself from screaming. Her thighs were numb and tingling with a dull ache, her lower back was stiff and she was nauseous. Legionnaires walking alongside her had offered potions, but she had turned them all down. She didn't want to compromise the effectiveness of the potion and she was getting worried, for all the cramping she experienced, there was very little bleeding.

The priests welcomed them in the Hall despite their numbers. It may have been late spring, but in the mountains, the nights were still frigid and the warmth of the hall was most welcome. Her men quickly settled their sleeping mats where instructed to by the Vigilants and broke into smaller groups to see to supper. Luthien was on the verge of collapse when a Breton middle-aged woman approached her.

Helping the elf to sit on a long church bench she introduced herself as Keeper Carcette, the leader of the Vigilants. Her face twisted in pain and her voice barely a whisper the Dunmer introduced herself too. Not knowing where the woman allegiance lay, she did not mention being Dragonborn.

"You look in need of healing", supplied the blond woman.

The elf shook her head softly. She felt faint, the pain, though not as sharp as it had been a few hours before, was still throbbing, and she was exhausted. She felt the tingling of a spell running over her as the healer slowly waved her hand from her head to her hips. "Oh dear", whispered the Breton. "The worst has passed", she supplied. "You'll be fine, I'll ease the pain away". Despite herself, Luthien sighed loudly as a second spell washed over her, soothing the muscles and releasing the tension.

The healer walked away, leaving the exhausted elf resting on the bench. She came back a short while later with a plate of food and placed it next to the dozing woman. The soft clattering woke her up instantly.

"Is it…", asked the exhausted woman, placing a grey trembling hand on her belly.

The kind smile on the healer's face broke her heart. "No, Mara was watching. You'll both be fine".

Pushing the food away from her, Luthien curled up on the bench and silently cried herself to sleep.

She was bloody, her armour was torn in multiple places, her skin was caked in dried sweat, cave dust, and rotten Draugr blood. She could barely place one foot in front of the other and her quiver was empty. She had barely bothered to close the wounds inflicted on her and barely bothered to stick to the shadows. Her voice was hoarse from shouting, her Magicka depleted, and yet, she was still standing and the Jagged Crown was in General Tullius' hands.

She could have seen in this an intervention of the Divines, an improbable turn of fate, but all she could feel was despair. She had tried everything she could think of and yet she was still carrying whatever Ulfric left behind.

Closing the bedroom door behind her, she tore the armour off of her and sat at the table next to the fireplace. The flames were dancing and crackling, she should have enjoyed the warmth, but she was cold. Placing a dirty hand on her belly she sighed, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

She had never thought she would bear a child. Being a mother never crossed her mind before Ralof had asked her to flee to Cyrodiil. Even then, she could not imagine herself actually carrying the children. How could she? She had never taken precautions on the Waterfront, nor with the Captain, or with Ralof, and yet she had never been pregnant. Furthermore, her close encounter with the dragon in Riverwood had left her with an impressive amount of scar tissue; with damage so extensive, she was unsure her wound had survived. Even her cycle had stopped. She had thought herself barren, and it suited her just fine. How could fate now taunt her so cruelly when she had dared to dream of a future with Ralof? To shatter that dream so violently. Moving past the Captain had been a hard and tricky path, he still haunted her dreams now and again, but she had prevailed against his memory. She knew deep down that she could also overcome Ulfric's. Until the fluttering, that was. To carry a part of him inside her for months, to feel it move, grow. To see him plainly on its face for years to come. It was more than she could bear.

Submerged in a cold grey world of despair, she looked around for paper and a quill, but she didn't have the energy to write.

It would be best if Ralof didn't know the truth anyway.

He would be better off.

She was glad he wasn't in their room.

She didn't want him here for that.


	19. Chapter 19: Temple of the Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:
> 
> Please note that this chapter talks about delicate subjects such as self-harm and abortion and as such could be triggering for some people.

Taking the fort back from the bandits had been a tough skirmish. The groups had been a substantial one, with good weapons and one of them had clearly served in an army somewhere because they had planned their defenses well. Though it had been good to speak with Hadvar again, it had been awkward to take orders from him; being a foot soldier again was humbling. While in Solitude, he was spared from living in the bunkhouse and had access to better food thanks to Luthien being Dragonborn and a prized ally, but he wasn't giving orders anymore. He had taken well to commanding his troops in Dawnstar, and he found himself missing being in charge.

He hoped his little elf was waiting for him at home. The damp cold was making the now healed wound on his waist, a gift from the Windhelm guards, throb, and he was looking forward to the warm room he shared with Luthien. It was his first assignment since their escape from Windhelm and he was afraid he would still need a lot of patience and carefully hidden potions to patch her up.

He had been spending half his salary in healing and stamina draughts since arriving in Solitude. It was easy enough to slip them in her food since she only ever came to the room to eat and pass out from exhaustion, but he had been careful to hide the vials well in their bedroom, thinking Luthien would get rid of them if she got her hands on them. Having her away from his covert care had him worried.

Korvanjund was an old burial ground and it must have been full of Draugrs and traps to keep the catacombs undisturbed. He was afraid Luthien would be in poor shape when he saw her again. She had been on a dangerous self-destructive path for weeks and being away from him, dungeon delving, he could only hope the men under her command would watch out for her.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he walked through Castle Dour doors. Legionnaires were avoiding his gaze, the atmosphere was tensed and conversations died when he walked by. Dropping his pack to the floor noisily, he barked "Would somebody tell me what's going on". Only silence answered him.

He ran to the temple as fast as he could. Pushing past Freir and her husband rudely he went down the narrow stone steps that led to the makeshift infirmary. There were no many beds! The Imperial, intent on keeping appearances up, made sure to hide anything less glorified than a crushing victory against the Stormcloaks. The prisoners were kept, far removed from the civilian's eyes, and so were the wounded. And if "advanced interrogation techniques" were used, it was kept secret but from a select few. The large stone room was dimly lit by a few torches and a large iron candelabra in its center. The cots were placed, staggered, in the usual Imperial orderly fashion, with two narrow aisles intersecting at the candelabra.

Through blurry, teary eyes he could see her lain on a wooden bed in a far corner. He didn't have the strength to walk up to her, so pale, so frail as she was. He found himself sobbing silently in the shadows, his back to the wall. A priestess, leaving the care of a blind legionnaire, walked up to the little elf and sat on the bed. She was casting some restorative magic on the Dunmer which seemed to wake her up. He could barely hear her despite the reverent silence.

"Did it work? Is it gone?"

"Is that why you took the poison then?", replied the priestess in a calm deep tone.

"Tell me it's gone", she sobbed.

"You are too far along for that", stated the Imperial.

The little elf wailed, and it was heart-wrenching for Ralof to hear.

"He held me down… He threatened to have Ralof killed… I tried to fight him, but in the end, I didn't. That thing inside me… it's a part of him. I want it gone. I need it gone".

He suddenly felt very cold; it was one thing to guess what had transpired between Jarl Ulfric and his beloved, but it was quite another to hear her talk about it. Was this what she had meant when she told him she was "soiled"? Was "it" what he thought it was. Was Luthien pregnant?

"I won't try to tell you I understand your actions, I do not. But I really must urge you to not try again. At this point anything that could harm baby would kill you with it".

He waited until his tears had dried, until the priestess left, before making his way toward the bed. He tried to be silent, but he had never been overly stealthy and with his full Legion heavy armor on it was a losing battle. There was no need to be silent, however; Luthien was wide awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, so he could look at her and he took her hand, so small and so cold, in his. She was refusing to look at him, her gaze fixed on the vaulted ceiling, her face neutral. He was trying to find words but failing miserably. He lowered his gaze; looking at the floor, it seemed less challenging.

"Luthien please", he begged. He brought his eyes back to her face. "You have to stop", and back to the floor. "I can't lose you again".

There was a long pause. Luthien still looked pointedly at the ceiling.

"You're careless in battle, you don't eat unless I coax you, you run yourself ragged with training", he said defeated. "I don't know how to help anymore".

"Please say something", he begged again.

"I heard the priestess just now", he whispered.

Her gazed wavered and she momentarily looked at him, terrified, then back at the ceiling with her neutral face before their eyes met. Silent tears were treacherously escaping from her eyes.

"Love, it doesn't have to be his". He urged on. While her face remained neutral, he could see he had her undivided attention, so he chose his next words with great care. After a short pause, he added, matter-of-factly, "It can be mine".

There was no response to his proposition, and he was nervous, anxious even; he started talking quickly, half expecting Luthien to explode in anger.

"We can decide the baby is mine. Ours. Not his. As for him", he said with hatred, "He becomes nameless, forgotten forever*. We never mention him again".

She looked at him, disbelief on her face. Was Ralof really that forgiving? How could he still care for her after such a betrayal? Did he hear that she had chosen not to fight in the end?

"I'm serious Luthien", he assured her, tightening his grip on her hand. Ever so carefully he placed his other hand, trembling, on her belly. "It's mine, please. Don't hurt yourself anymore". At this point, they were both crying more or less silently, and when Ralof brought his hands up to her shoulder so he could hug her, she leaped at him. She was dizzy and weak, but she needed the closeness, the comfort of her lover. Somehow, his acceptance of the pregnancy meant a great deal. She still didn't want the child, but at least she knew she had not lost Ralof. He knew of her shame, yet was still standing next to her. She could barely believe it!

"What if I can't look at it when it's born? Will you forgive me?"

"Whichever way, there will be nothing to forgive. I'm here for you Luthien, to whatever ends".

After a long pause where they simply enjoyed being close to each other, Luthien pulled back and asked him bluntly, "You can't know for sure. What if it looks like him".

Ralof replied adamantly. "I don't need to know. I choose to believe". He could see his little elf was still unsure. "I love you. All of you. And I will love our child". Bringing her close to his chest once more he spoke in his calm, deep voice, "While you were away in Blackreach, when the world taught you were dead, I tried to convince myself you would come back. That they were all mistaken for believing otherwise. I built the house in Dawnstar for you, for us. Sturdy, thick walls and a large hearth so you would be warm. It seemed like an impossible future at the time, but I would dream of us living there. Of starting a family with you. Of little elflings with white hair running around". He could feel her lithe frame trembling against his as she sobbed quietly, his voice breaking with emotion. "So, you see, I don't care if the child doesn't look like me. He or she will look like you and that's enough for me. However, if you ask me to, I will take the baby to Honour Hall myself".

He held her against him until her breathing changed and he knew she was asleep. With the greatest care in the world, he placed her back on the cot and covered her up with the blanket. He needed to have a word with the priestess.

Once he was assured she would be all right, at least physically, and that she needed at the minimum one more day in the temple, he left for Castle Dour.

The priestess, named Silana, he had learned, was surprised to see him come back so late at night, cleaned and out of his armor. She tried to argue Luthien needed to rest, but he would not be deterred, so she allowed him in. He made his way as quietly as possible toward the bed his little elf was resting in. Slowly caressing her hair to rouse her but not alarm her he asked, "Do you want me here tonight? I brought my bedroll".

Her sleepy smile and the way she moved aside let him know the bedroll would not be necessary. He dropped it next to the bed and carefully slid in next to her. It was too narrow to be comfortable, but she was back to sleep in minutes, her head on his strong chest and his arms wrapped around her protectively. He meant every word he had said earlier. He did not care that the child may not be his, but he knew it was incredibly hard for Luthien. He could only imagine what she was going through and he vowed to Talos he would see Ulfric dead for his unspeakable acts.

It had been weeks since she had allowed him to touch her, hold her. He fought sleep as long as he could, savoring the softness of her hair, her smell, her heat against him. She looked so peaceful, asleep in his arms. He placed his large hand on her belly once more and waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for exactly, he didn't know much about pregnancy after all, but he wanted to feel connected to the baby somehow. He was curious to know when she had noticed she was pregnant. He remembered it took well over a month for Gergur to know, yet the fateful night with Ulfric was not that far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Please note that Ralof is not suggesting they overlook how Luthien is feeling/what she has been through. He's referring to what I understand might be an old Nord custom/curse for terribly evil people as can be seen in the "Forbidden Legend" quest ("Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer and betrayer. […] May your name and deeds be forgotten forever").


End file.
